**r^'- 


SNOW-FIRE 

L     Ol-ir-irAt    Cunll 


R  n 


n   ."Lit, 


SNOW-FIRE 

A  STORY  OF  THE  RUSSIAN  COURT 

VrVtVrWimVu^ 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"THE     MARTYRDOM     OF     AN     EMPRESS" 

"EMERALD  AND  ERMINE"  "GRAY  MIST" 
"THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  ROSE"  ETC. 

OFFICIKK  DE  L'ORDRE  DE  L'INSTKUCTION  PUBLIQUE  DE  FRANCE 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  WATER-COLOR 
DRAWINGS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW      YORK       AND       LONDON 

1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  njcrvtd. 


Published  April,  1910. 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


SRLfi 

URL! 


THE     GRAND-DUCHESS      VILLA     ON    THE    EDGE    OP    THE 

SAHEL Frontispiece 

BALCONY    OF    THE    VILLA    IN    THE    SAHEL Facing  p.  I  JO 

IN  THE  ISBA,  NEAR  LIVADIA "       336 

THE  GRAND-DUCHESS'  ISBA,  NEAR  LIVADIA     ....      "      362 


THE  Northern  Fires  are  stilled  and  slow 
Moon  after  moon,  beneath  the  snow 
Trod  by  the  iron  wind,  and  clear 
The  stars  burn,  stooping  close  and  near 
From  the  aurora's  spectral  bow. 

Yet  once  the  ashes  wake  and  glow, 
No  night  of  respiting  to  know 
Leap  from  the  threshold  of  the  year 
The  Northern  Fires. 

Glares  the  horizon  red  and  low, 
Uplifts  the  light — and  sinketh  so; 
Then  flames  the  circle  of  the  sphere. 
Blinding,  and  cold  as  steel  to  shear, 
Cleave  the  vast  berg  and  launch  the  floe 
The  Northern  Fires. 

M.  M. 


SNOW-FIRE 


CHAPTER  I 

Love,  if  from  love,  then  I  would  have  you  stay; 

But  else  I  pray  you  take  my  love  and  go. 
No  bough  should  hold  the  leafage  of  its  May 

Beyond  the  hour  of  Summer's  overthrow. 
Cling  not  in  fear  or  pity — naught  is  there 

In  cold  adherence  to  a  barren  spray; 
Better  with  all  the  forest  to  be  bare 

Than  robe  in  tatters  of  a  happier  day. 
Fall  from  me  now,  if  it  in  truth  is  seen 

That  rain  and  frost  and  chilling  winds  are  near, 
But  let  me  not,  when  all  the  woods  are  green, 

Wake  to  the  sun,  and  find  my  foliage  sere. 
This  thing  alone  I  ask,  as  speech  is  free: 
To  loose  or  bind,  keep  but  your  faith  with  me. 

M.  M. 

" I  WON'T  have  you  speak  to  me  like  that,  do  you  hear?" 

Serge,  aware  of  the  frown  drawing  her  arched  eye- 
brows into  one  straight  bar,  repressed  a  gesture  of  irrita- 
tion and  fell  to  fidgeting  with  his  sword-knot. 

"Do  you  hear,  and  do  you  understand?"  she  harshly 
insisted,  bending  forward  as  if  to  get  him  more  completely 
within  the  compass  of  her  angry  gaze. 

"I  hear,  of  course,  but  I  can't  say  that  I  understand," 
he  answered,  with  a  surface  calmness  that  failed  to  de- 
2  3 


SNOW-FIRE 

ceive  her.  She  was  too  keen  for  that,  even  in  her  most 
erratic  moods. 

"Oh,  you  won't — eh?  Well,  then,  you  must  be  more 
obtuse  than  usual  this  evening — obtuse  and  mulish!" 

"Obtuse  and  what?"  he  asked. 

"Mulish — I  said  mulish!"  she  retorted,  straightening 
her  perfect  figure  so  it  silhouetted  to  undeniable  advan- 
tage against  the  dark-gleaming  group  of  palms  and 
camellias  before  which  they  were  standing. 

In  spite  of  his  efforts  to  appear  still  unmoved,  he 
winced,  and  a  moment  passed  before  he  plucked  up  spirit 
for  a  feeble  remonstrance. 

"It  would  please  me  if  you  deigned  to  speak  a  trifle 
lower,"  he  muttered,  glancing  uneasily  over  his  shoulder. 
"Somebody  will  end  by  hearing." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  anxious  to  please  you,  especially 
just  now,"  she  retorted,  sharply. 

"I  dare  say;  but  really  Your  Imperial  Highness  might 
remember  that  I  am  not  alone  concerned.  Tongues  have 
already  been  so  active  that  it  is  useless  to  give  them 
fresh  opportunities  for  mischief." 

She  laughed  unpleasantly.  "Your  prudence  is  marked- 
ly in  advance  of  your  heart-impulses — indeed,  I  have 
noticed  a  praiseworthy  progress  in  that  direction  lately. 
But  you  are  wasting  your  precautions;  nobody  would 
dare  to  follow  us  here." 

"Not  even  the  Grand-Duke?"  young  Urlansky  asked, 
losing  patience  for  a  second. 

Grand-Duchess  Stepan  laughed  again.  "Especially 
not  the  Grand-Duke.  Surely  you  honor  him  too  highly 
to  suspect  him  of  so  unpardonable  a  lack  of  tact?" 

Serge  stared  at  her  in  silence.  Accustomed  as  he  was 
to  her  eccentricities  and  freedom  of  speech,  yet  this  went 
just  a  trifle  beyond  what  he  knew  her  to  be  capable 


SNOW-FIRE 

of,  and  he  barely  saved  himself  from  blundering  further 
yet. 

"Oh!  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  coolly  con- 
tinued, "but  as  we  are  not  here  to  indulge  in  obvious 
witticisms,  tell  me  instead  why  you  refused  to  answer 
my  question  a  while  ago?" 

"There  can  be  no  answer  to  a  question  based  upon 
nothing,  Daria-Mikaelovna." 

"I  think  my  question  had  excellent  foundations,  on  the 
contrary.  Some  of  the  tongues  you  mention  have  been 
busy  with  your  recent  meanderings  amid  the  daisied  fields 
of  'innocent  flirtation.'  You  will  observe  that  I  express 
myself  with  a  delicacy  perhaps  far  below  the  merits  of 
the  case!" 

"I  did  not  know  that  there  were  any  such  flowery  pas- 
tures around  Petersburg,"  he  rejoined,  with  sulky  banter. 

"Dear  me!  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  the  timid 
blossoms  are  utterly  artificial?  What  have  you  done 
with  your  illusions?" 

"I  try  to  risk  them  as  seldom  as  possible.  Precious 
possessions  should  be  jealously  guarded." 

"I  thought  I  had  told  you  just  now  that  I  don't  like 
that  tone!"  she  said,  raspingly.  "You  began  to-night 
by  indirectly  taunting  me  with  past  and  gone  incidents 
which  in  no  way  concern  you;  and  now  you  are  getting 
perilously  near  to  impertinence.  How  much  longer  do 
you  intend  to  go  on  like  this?  Do  you  delude  yourself 
into  believing  that  I  am  the  kind  of  woman  to  stand  it?" 

The  six-foot-two  of  splendid  manhood  before  her  seemed 
suddenly  to  flinch  and  shrink,  the  almost  too  handsome 
features  turned  white,  and  the  dashing  Guardsman, 
usually  so  sure  of  himself,  realized  with  galling  certainty 
his  complete  powerlessness  to  cope  with  the  situation, 

"Don't,  Daria,"  he  faltered;   "don't,  please!" 

5 


SNOW-FIRE 

She  looked  at  him  and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  for, 
fond  of  absolute  power  though  she  was,  the  sight  of  this 
usually  extremely  manly  man  cringing  like  a  terrified 
child  exasperated  her,  and  at  the  same  time  made  her  in- 
clined to  laugh.  Possessing  more  than  her  share  of  Slav 
mercuriality,  she  nearly  yielded  to  the  impulse,  but  caught 
herself  up  in  time,  however,  for  she  felt  an  additional  cut 
or  two  of  the  whip  was  needed. 

"Don't  what?"  she  curtly  demanded. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  me,"  he  said,  weakly,  endeav- 
oring to  touch  her  hand,  but  she  snatched  it  away 
impatiently. 

"How  can  I  help  being  angry  with  you,  I'd  like  to 
know,"  she  continued,  "when  I  see  you  on  the  verge  of 
making  a  fool  of  yourself,  besides  breaking  some  promises 
given  of  your  own  free  will,  when  no  one  was  asking  you 
to  do  so  ?  Remember  that  I  warned  you  of  the  risks  you 
were  running.  I  told  you  twenty  times  that  the  differ- 
ence of  age  alone  was  against  the  probability  of  a  long 
attachment  between  us.  You  would  not  listen  then — 
will  you  do  so  now?" 

"I  am  listening,"  he  muttered,  sullenly. 

"All  right,  then;  and  don't  forget  what  I  am  about  to 
say,  for  I  shall  certainly  never  repeat  it.  If  you  have 
discovered  that  you  have  made  a  mistake,  acknowledge 
it  like  the  straightforward  boy  I  have  always  believed 
you  to  be — I  will  not  give  you  one  word  of  reproach ;  nor 
even  ask  you  whether,  yes  or  no,  another  woman  is 
responsible  for  your  altered  attitude.  I  do  not  propose 
to  chain  you  to  me  by  force,  so  you  have  only  to  speak  .  .  . ! 
If,  however,  you  are  genuinely  loyal  or  else  too  utterly 
cowardly  to  tell  the  truth,  then  let  the  consequences  of 
your  silence  rest  with  you.  Which  shall  it  be?" 

For  a  second  the  temptation  to  tell  her  the  truth  shook 

6 


SNOW-FIRE 

him,  but  he  glanced  at  her  and  was  lost.  Never  had  he 
seen  her  as  she  appeared  just  then.  It  was  not  merely 
the  imperial  beauty,  to  which  he  had  grown  accustomed 
long  since,  but  a  certain  something  quite  new  and  unex- 
plainable  in  her  look  and  attitude,  something  that  froze 
both  his  words  and  his  courage. 

"Well!"  she  said,  quietly,  her  fingers  clasped  upon  her 
closed  fan.  "Is  it  so  difficult  to  be  an  honest  man?" 

"You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me  like  that,"  he 
blustered,  now  flushing  hotly.  "I  love  the  chains  that 
bind  me  to  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  break  them.  Be- 
cause I  have  spoken  two  or  three  times  to  some  one  you 
don't  approve  of,  you  instantly  rush  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  am  disloyal  to  you — it  is  cruel,  unjust — unfair!" 

The  Grand-Duchess  was  looking  at  him  with  strange 
intentness. 

Was  she  convinced  by  this  torrent  of  almost  incoherent 
words  ?  He  was  much  too  agitated  to  watch  her  closely, 
but  when  he  paused  he  felt  convinced  that  she  must  hear 
his  heart  beat  in  the  sudden  silence  of  the  snow-encircled 
winter-garden. 

"You  are  certain?"  she  asked,  with  for  the  first  time 
a  ring  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"Certain?     Of  course  I  am  certain!" 

For  a  moment,  if  they  had  but  known  it,  life  and  death 
hung  suspended  in  the  balance.  Then  with  a  gesture  in- 
finitely proud  and  gentle,  Daria-Mikaelovna  let  her  fan 
slip  to  the  end  of  its  diamond-guard  and  stretched  both 
hands  out  to  Serge. 

"So  am  I,  then,"  she  whispered;  but  as  he  bent  low 
before  her,  her  eyes  rested  for  an  instant  upon  his  blond 
head  with  a  wavering,  perplexed  gaze  that  seemed  still 
a  question — the  answer  to  which  she  could  have  found 
in  the  rage  and  shame  of  his  own  lowered  ones. 

7 


SNOW-FIRE 

"You  have  forgiven  me?"  he  asked  at  last,  resting  upon 
one  knee  on  the  hem  of  her  dress  and  looking  pleadingly 
up  at  her. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  smile.  "But 
don't  sin  again!  Now;  it  would  be  unpardonable — and 
remain  unpardoned." 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  and  without  another  word 
walked  quickly  toward  the  concert-room,  where  a  score  of 
guests,  waiting  to  accompany  her  to  a  ball  at  the  Winter 
Palace,  were  listening  to  the  exquisite  music  she  knew 
how  to  provide  for  them  better  than  any  other  hostess  in 
the  gay  capital  of  the  Great  White  Empire. 

The  arrangement  of  every  nook  and  corner  in  the  vast 
palace  bore  the  signature  of  the  Grand-Duchess's  inimit- 
able chic,  and  as  she  entered  she  gave  a  pleased  glance  at 
the  floral  decorations  which  she  had  planned  when  going 
to  bed  the  night  before,  and  had  had  carried  out  under 
her  own  eyes  early  that  morning. 

"How  do  you  like  my  wistaria  -  cascades  now?"  she 
asked  her  husband,  who  was  lounging  near  the  door. 
"  You  predicted,  if  I  remember  rightly,  that  they  would 
make  the  place  look  like  a  Japanese  tea-house.  Do  you 
still  think  so?" 

Grand-Duke  Stepan  turned  his  tired,  dissipated  eyes 
toward  her. 

"As  usual  you  were  right  and  I  wrong — an  old  habit 
with  us,  eh  ?  But  still,  admit  that  but  for  these  bunches 
of  yellow  laburnum  here  and  there,  the  uniform  mauvi- 
ness  of  the  effect  would  be  a  trifle — what  should  one  say  ? 
A  trifle—?" 

"Insipid?"  she  questioned,  surveying  through  her 
lorgnon  the  silky  clusters  draping  the  walls  and  drooping 
from  the  big  green  bronze  vases  in  every  corner. 

"Insipid — no,  merely  monotonous,"  he  answered,  again 

8 


SNOW-FIRE 

glancing  at  her.  "A  thing  you  dislike  as  much  as  I  do, 
I  believe." 

"It  depends,"  she  said,  smiling.  "A  little  monotony 
sometimes  has  its  advantages!" 

"As  a  frame  for  pleasing  situations,  or  merely  a  foil?" 

She  laughed  lightly.  "Oh!  you  are  getting  too  epi- 
grammatic for  my  simple  tastes,  besides  which  it  is  grow- 
ing late,  and  I  want  you  to  hustle  our  adorable  but  too 
leisurely  Maestro,  who  seems  inclined  to  prolong  his  soul- 
wailings  beyond  all  reason.  Only  don't  hurt  his  feelings, 
please,  they  are  so  tenderly  poised." 

The  Grand-Duke  looked  quizzically  at  her.  "Hustle 
such  a  violinist  and  without  upsetting  his  feelings  ?  That 
demands  more  tact  than  I  ever  possessed,"  he  answered; 
"but  I'll  try  and  find  some,  since  if  we  presume  to  be  late 
we  will  be  welcomed  by  that  most  successfully  grafted 
Imperial  frown  we  know  so  well." 

And  with  his  lazy,  lagging  step  he  crossed  over  to  the 
piano,  where  a  mournful  -  looking  accompanist,  his  eyes 
resignedly  fixed  on  the  lemon-wood  ceiling,  was  waiting 
until  the  notes  of  a  complicated  ritornello,  spun  to  thread- 
like fineness,  reached  the  point  where  his  own  art,  un- 
deniable, but  alas,  secondary,  was  again  in  demand. 

For  a  minute  longer  Daria-Mikaelovna  watched  her 
lord's  manoeuvres  to  prevent  an  encore,  and  then,  turning 
swiftly  on  her  heel,  re-entered  the  gallery  leading  to  the 
winter-garden  and  gained  a  side  staircase  communicating 
with  her  private  apartments.  It  was  really  getting  very 
late,  and  she  ran  up-stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  quite 
regardless  of  the  long  train  rippling  after  her  in  brusque 
undulations — ran  as  naturally  and  vigorously  as  a  boy, 
though  her  jewels  jingled  a  tinkling  protest  against  so  un- 
Grand-Ducal  a  performance. 

In  a  boudoir  opening  upon  the  landing  her  women 

9 


SNOW-FIRE 

were  waiting  with  the  cloth-of-gold  court-mantle  to  be 
"buckled,"  as  she  graphically  expressed  it,  on  the  gold- 
embroidered  fourreau  she  wore.  A  few  more  strands  of 
pearls  hastily  thrown  over  her  head,  a  satisfactory  lit- 
tle twist  of  the  tiara  which  her  flight  had  disarranged, 
and,  wrapped  in  furs  to  the  eyes,  she  again  quickly  de- 
scended to  the  waiting  sleighs. 

The  city  looked  like  a  corner  of  dreamland  in  its  setting 
of  white  feathery  firs  and  gleaming  blue  ice.  The  stately 
buildings  and  metal-domed  churches  on  the  Newsky 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  materiality  in  this  hyperborean 
moon-veiled  night,  and  looked  but  slightly  solidified  mist- 
shapes  amid  the  vapors  rising  from  the  imprisoned  Neva. 
One  shaft  of  silver  light  piercing  the  drifting  haze 
touched  the  arrow-like  spire  of  the  Peter  and  Paul  Fortress, 
making  it  alone  look  real,  and  limning  the  Cross  of  Con- 
stantine  in  delicate  glory  above  the  fantastically  spectral 
town.  There  was  no  noise,  no  turmoil  anywhere.  Just 
a  restful  hum  that  was  almost  harmonious  from  the 
near-by  streets,  muffled  in  velvet-soft  snow,  as  if  all  sound 
were  daintily  winnowed  of  its  heavier  particles  by  the 
shimmering  volutes  of  the  fog. 

"We'll  be  late,"  the  Grand-Duchess  calmly  mused,  as 
her  Orloffs  flew  over  the  white  surface.  "Late,  and 
frowned  upon  singly  and  collectively!  Stepan  was  right 
— he  generally  is  when  there  is  something  disagreeable 
to  prophesy — though,  after  all,  it  will  be  only  partly  dis- 
agreeable to  see  that  embodiment  of  all  the  virtues,  my 
most  august  niece,  give  way  to  a  bit  of  genuine  human 
bad  temper. — Don't  you  think  it  is  delightful?"  she 
abruptly  asked  of  the  privileged  guest  sitting  beside 
her. 

"The  quay  and  the  Neva?"  Countess  Dermetchieff 
queried,  turning  her  handsome  old  head  within  its  ermine- 

10 


SNOW-FIRE 

lined  hood  to  look  at  the  long  line  of  palaces  past  which 
they  were  driving  at  breakneck  speed. 

"No;  to  see  an  embodiment  of  all  the  virtues  give  way 
to  ill-temper?" 

Madame  Dermetchieff  taughed.  "For  the  past  thirty 
years  I  have  vainly  attempted  to  accommodate  my  slow- 
paced  wits  to  Your  Imperial  Highness's  bewildering  flights 
of  thought,  but  to-day  I  am  as  hopelessly  distanced  as  ever." 

"Well,  then,  wait  till  we  reach  'The  Presence'  and 
you'll  easily  catch  up!"  Daria-Mikaelovna  dryly  remarked. 
"But  here  we  are,"  she  added,  as  the  runners  of  the 
sleigh  etched  a  masterly  figure  eight  before  the  blazing 
electrics  of  the  Imperial  portico. 

It  was  the  first  ball  of  the  season,  and  bade  fair  to 
equal  in  splendor  those  so  celebrated  during  the  preced- 
ing reign.  The  entire  suite  of  state  apartments  had  been 
thrown  open.  In  the  Nicholas  Hall  some  two  thousand 
people,  forming  the  nucleus  of  St.  Petersburg's  great 
world,  were  awaiting  the  entry  of  the  Sovereigns,  and 
beside  the  door  through  which  the  cortege  would  come 
stood  Serge  Urlansky,  in  the  white  and  gold  of  his  Cheva- 
lier-Garde uniform — helmeted  head  erect,  eyes  fixed,  and 
sword  drawn — on  guard.  He  foresaw  no  pleasing  ending 
to  an  evening  so  painfully  begun  at  the  Palais-Stepan, 
and  his  mouth  was  set  grimly  beneath  his  blond  mus- 
tache as  he  thought  of  the  imminent  encounter  between 
the  two  women  who  were  making  his  life  a  bitter  misery 
between  them. 

For  a  fleeting  second  he  glanced  toward  the  fourth 
window  of  the  long  row  of  sixteen,  giving  on  the  Neva, 
where  directly  in  front  of  a  group  of  flowering  mimosas 
the  other — the  newer  and  younger  love — was  standing. 
He  remembered  the  camellias  of  an  hour  before,  and  that 
exquisite  figure  in  its  ruby-sewn  golden  sheath  outline^ 

II 


SNOW-FIRE 

against  the  dark  foliage;  then  forced  himself  to  look 
away  from  the  slender  form,  draped  from  head  to  foot  in 
gauze  so  faintly  rosy  that  it  seemed  scarcely  tinted  at 
all,  and  positively  melted  into  the  shell-like  tones  of  the 
delicate  skin.  An  unusual  type  of  beauty  this,  for  al- 
though the  large,  dark-fringed  eyes  were  of  the  hue  of  a 
brown  pansy  petal,  the  hair,  piled  up  in  masses  beneath  the 
pointed  diadem — hair  so  fine  that  a  mere  breath  would 
lift  it  like  cobwebs — was  absolutely  and  uncompromis- 
ingly flaxen,  without  so  much  as  one  glint  of  gold  in  the 
satiny  torsades,  which  when  unbound  fell  to  the  ankles 
of  their  graceful  possessor. 

Last  winter  Princess  Virianow — or  Princess  Sacha,  as 
she  was  more  familiarly  known — had  been  kept  from 
appearing  at  Court  by  the  extremely  severe  etiquette 
which  prevails  in  Russia  with  regard  to  a  widow's  mourn- 
ing; but  since  the  spring  she  had  recovered  her  liberty, 
and  seemed  eager  to  make  up  for  the  dreary  days  spent 
at  her  melancholy  and  lonely  estates  on  the  banks  of  the 
Dnieper. 

Two  months  of  marriage  and  twenty-four  of  solitary 
retirement,  with  no  greater  solace  than  the  remembrance 
of  a  middle-aged  husband,  to  whom  she  had  hardly  had 
time  to  grow  accustomed  before  death  divided  them,  was 
a  bad  beginning,  indeed;  but  now  she  was  free,  rich, 
beautiful,  highly  placed,  and  not  yet  twenty,  so  it  was 
no  wonder  if  she  looked  confidingly  toward  a  future 
which  could  not  be  other  than  delightful,  if  Destiny 
knew  its  business. 

"And,"  she  was  saying  to  Alain  de  Coetmen  of  the  Hus- 
sars of  Grodno,  "I  mean  to  amuse  myself  a  very  great 
deal  this  season — it  will  be  my  first,  you  know,  for  I  was 
not  yet  out  when  they  married  me  off." 

"Does  this  amuse  you?"  he  questioned,  indicating  the 

I? 


SNOW-FIRE 

throng  of  courtiers  crowding  both  sides  of  the  lane  of 
purple  carpet  upon  which,  in  a  few  seconds,  their  Imperial 
Majesties  would  advance. 

"Yes,  everything  does  now!  If  you  had  spent  two 
winters  and  two  summers  at  Bieldvina — and  the  autumns 
— oh! — "  The  pretty  mouth  drooped  suddenly.  "The 
autumns  of  marshland  drenched  in  rain  that  never  comes 
down  softly,  but  always  in  sheets,  darkening  the  whole 
world,  and  abolishing  the  very  sensation  of  time!  It 
seems  as  if  it  were  doomed  never  to  stop  again  until  the 
entire  universe  is  turned  into  liquid  mud." 

Captain  de  Coetmen  smiled.  "Mud  and  rain  are  not 
always  so  terrible,"  he  argued.  "In  my  country  we  do 
not  mind  them  much — though  there  they  are  not  the 
precursors  of  interminable  snows." 

"Your  country?"  Sacha  interrupted,  wonderingly; 
and  then  quickly  added,  "  Oh  yes,  it's  true,  I  always  for- 
get that  you  are  not  really  a  Russian,  you  look  so  much 
like  one." 

"Because  I  am  tall  or  because  I  am  not  dark?"  he 
asked,  laughing  outright. 

"Neither;  simply  because  you  are  so  completely  one 
of  us.  Dear  me,  it  is  hard  to  realize  that  you  are  only 
serving  our  Father  the  Tsar  for  lack  of  a  King  of  your 
own." 

"My  father  and  my  grandfather  served  here  before 
me,"  he  interposed,  "and  if  I  said  'my  country'  just 
now,  it  is  because  no  Breton  ever  quite  becomes  anything 
else  at  heart." 

"You  are  lucky,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sigh;  "I  am 
not  in  the  least  patriotic;  in  fact,  I'd  almost  rather  be 
anything  else  than  a  Slav.  Perhaps  I  have  no  heart!" 

The  young  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  amuse- 
ment and  glanced  quizzically  at  her. 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  she  demanded.  "You  have 
not  the  smallest  reason  to  believe  that  I  am  not  heartless. 
But  there — don't  answer  me — we  must  stand  at  atten- 
tion, here  'They'  are." 

In  the  sudden  utter  silence  the  sombre  chords  of  the 
national  anthem,  played  by  a  hidden  orchestra,  bowed 
every  head  as  the  Imperial  pair  appeared  in  the  flower- 
garlanded  entrance.  The  Tsaritsa,  all  in  white,  with  no 
touch  of  color  on  train  or  bodice  save  the  ribbons  of  her 
orders  and  the  rainbow  fires  of  the  diamonds  with  which 
she  was  literally  covered,  looked  surprisingly  handsome  in 
spite  of  the  thinness  of  her  delicate  features,  and  the 
strained  expression  of  her  perpetually  searching  and  rest- 
less eyes.  Beside  her  tall,  slender  figure,  the  Emperor 
seemed  lessened  and  robbed  of  some  of  the  hereditary 
grandeur,  which  the  plain  uniform  of  the  Preobrajensky 
Regiment  that  he  was  wearing  was  scarcely  calculated 
to  restore.  The  nervous  smile,  the  quick,  mechanical 
inclinations  of  the  head,  the  hand  continually  twisting 
the  mustache,  told  the  same  story  as  his  Consort's  hag- 
gard eyes,  and  it  was  not  a  cheerful  one. 

"Oh!"  murmured  Princess  Sacha,  lithely  straightening 
from  her  sweeping  court-curtsy — "oh!  the  poor  dears." 

"  Look  at  Grand  -  Duchess  Stepan,"  her  companion 
whispered.  "Carking  cares  do  not  rob  her  of  much  of 
her  beauty.  Isn't  she  extraordinary?" 

"It  is  impossible — impossible  to  imagine  that  she  has 
a  married  son,"  Sacha  responded.  "  She  looks  as  young 
as  I  do!" 

"Nobody  in  the  world  can  do  that,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"You — well — you  are  the  embodiment  of  spring.  But 
really,  Daria-Mikaelovna  is  a  marvel  in  every  imaginable 
respect.  Watch  her  dancing  to-night — it  is  a  veritable 
poem." 

14 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Has  it  never  dawned  upon  the  Grand-Duke  what  a 
wonderful  wife  he  has?" 

"He  knows  it  well  enough." 

"Well,  then,  why  does  he  always  behave  so  horribly 
to  her?" 

"  That  I  don't  know.  Not  that  she  seems  to  care  much 
now,  however,  though  once  she  must  have  suffered 
cruelly." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her?"  she  asked,  with  perfect 
simplicity.  "Everybody  is,  more  or  less,  of  course;  but 
are  you  more  so  than  the  rest?" 

"Much  less  than  the  rest,"  he  assured  her.  "To  tell 
the  truth,  I  am  not,  and  never  have  been,  bold  enough 
to  become  a  suiveur  de  joules;  but  I  may  admire  very 
sincerely  from  a  respectful  distance,  may  I  not?" 

"  You  may,  and  also  you  may  now  take  me  away  from 
this  little  corner.  I  want  to  dance,  too,  even  if  my  per- 
formance is  not  'a  veritable  poem.'  Now  that  the  Qua- 
drille d'Honneur  is  over,  we  can  have  our  chance." 

"Poor  Urlansky,"  the  hussar  murmured,  offering  her 
his  arm.  "Just  see  the  Tantalian  misery  of  his  gaze. 
It's  too  bad  to  transform  our  best  waltzers  into  gorgeous 
gold-and- white  statues  on  such  a  night." 

Sacha's  eyes  turned  toward  the  tall  figure  standing 
motionless  near  the  door,  and  suddenly  Captain  de  Coet- 
men  saw  in  their  brown  depths  an  underlying  gleam  of 
amethyst  which  made  them  more  than  ever  resemble  the 
blossom  to  which  they  were  so  often  compared. 

"All  Sacha's  deeper  feelings  are  translated  in  her  eyes," 
her  long-dead  father  had  been  wont  to  say,  "and  then 
they  always  remind  me  of  those  big  purple  pansies  glazed 
with  brown  that  seem  so  profoundly  knowing  when  one 
looks  intently  at  them." 

"Ah,"  thought  the  young  hussar,  sadly,  "can  the  gos- 

15 


SNOW-FIRE 

sip  about  those  two  really  be  true,  then,  .  .  .  and  doesn't 
she  know — ?" 

She  caught  his  involuntarily  anxious  glance,  and  in- 
stantly took  alarm. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  uneasily.     "  Anything  wrong  ?" 

"Why,  no,  of  course  not.  What  should  there  be?"  he 
answered,  much  annoyed  at  having  so  stupidly  betrayed 
himself. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  confessed,  "but  you  gave  me  a 
fright — brr-rrrr! — you  know  what  they  say  here  about  a 
heron  striding  over  one's  grave." 

"Nonsense!  Come  along,  Sacha-Basilievna,  let's  have 
a  good,  old-fashioned  trois-temps  waltz,  and  forget  all 
real  or  imaginary  ill-omened  birds!" 

Her  laugh  was  genuine  enough,  but  her  little  face  was 
still  clouded  as  she  allowed  him  to  slip  his  arm  about 
her  waist  and  to  draw  her  into  the  wide  circle  of  dancers ; 
indeed,  it  was  only  after  several  turns  that  she  once  more 
threw  herself  completely  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

They  made  a  remarkable  couple  as  they  whirled  past 
the  divan  where  Grand-Duchess  Stepan,  having  just  dis- 
missed her  partner,  was  poised  for  an  instant;  and  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  tall  handsome  officer  in  his  trim 
dark-green  uniform,  flashing  with  crimson  and  silver, 
and  the  apple-blossom-tinted  vision  leaning  against  his 
broad  shoulder,  she  briskly  straightened  up. 

"There  goes  the  solution  of  the  problem!"  she  mur- 
mured, with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  How  stupid  of  me  not  to 
have  seen  it  sooner ;  but  then  will  I  have  to  make  friends 
with  the  fair  Sacha  ?  I  hate  making  frie'nds  with  women." 

Nevertheless,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  selected  as  her 
vis-a-vis  for  a  quadrille  Princess  Sacha  Virianow  and 
Captain  the  Marquis  de  Coetmen,  and  was  so  exception- 
ally gracious  that  Sacha,  who,  until  then,  had  been  treat- 


SNOW-FIRE 

ed  by  the  "principal  Grand-Duchess" — as  Daria-Mik- 
aelovna  was  known  at  Court — with  nothing  more  than 
cold  courtesy,  felt  unqualifiedly  flattered  and  delighted. 

Somebody  who  was  less  pleased,  however,  was  Serge 
Urlansky,  watching  every  phase  of  the  little  comedietta 
with  a  sinking  heart.  At  first  he  almost  hoped  that  he 
had  succeeded  in  persuading  Daria  of  her  injustice  tow- 
ard himself;  but  in  a  little  while,  when  the  Grand-Duch- 
ess, at  the  end  of  the  dance,  invited  Sacha  to  sit  down 
beside  her,  and  he  saw  her  twice  touch  the  little  white- 
gloved  fingers  of  the  young  widow  with  a  charmingly 
familiar  gesture,  he  grew  really  frightened. 

What  he,  however,  failed  to  notice  was  that,  just  be- 
fore the  supper  hour  drew  every  one  to  the  St.  George's 
Hall,  Alain  de  Coetmen  became,  in  his  turn,  the  object 
of  Daria's  particular  favor,  and  had  the  honor  of  being 
taken  to  admire  an  extraordinary  mass  of  orchids,  which, 
as  she  deigned  to  explain,  had  arrived  that  very  morning 
by  special  train  to  grace  the  Feast. 

Alain  was  far  too  modest  to  accept  so  gratifying  a  dis- 
tinction as  his  due,  but  also  too  simple-minded  to  see  in 
it  any  ulterior  intentions;  and  if  he  thought  anything 
at  all,  he  attributed  it  to  one  of  the  passing  caprices 
which  characterized  the  erratic  Daria,  without  troubling 
further  about  the  matter.  And  just  as  he  was  escorting 
her  back  to  her  place,  the  Emperor,  who,  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour,  had  been  aimlessly  walking  to  and 
fro  without  addressing  any  one,  and  was,  to  all  outward 
appearances,  sunk  in  the  deepest  meditation,  accosted 
them.  Captain  de  Coetmen  fell  back  and  stood  at  atten- 
tion while  the  short  colloquy  lasted,  but  was  not  suffi- 
ciently distant  to  lose  the  hurried,  "I  want  to  see  you 
before  you  leave,"  muttered  by  the  Tsar,  and  the  slight- 
ly impatient,  "Very  well,  I'll  come  to  your  study,"  Daria 

17 


SNOW-FIRE 

vouchsafed  in  reply  as  she  beckoned  to  her  escort  and 
swept  on.  She  looked  less  smiling  now  and  even  frowned 
a  little,  although  her  voice  was  perfectly  even  as  she  dis- 
missed him  with  a  gracious  invitation  to  come  to  her 
fancy-drees  dance  on  the  morrow;  causing  him,  thereby, 
only  one  degree  more  of  mild  bewilderment. 

Soon  after  supper  the  Court  retired,  and  while  the 
guests  were  slowly  leaving  the  palace,  Grand-Duchess 
Stepan  made  her  way  to  the  great  sombre  room  which 
had  been  the  late  Emperor's  favorite  apartment,  but 
which  his  son  seldom  used. 

He  was  already  waiting,  and  pacing  irritably  up  and 
down,  when  the  frou-frou  of  her  skirts  heralded  her  ap- 
proach; but  as  she  entered  he  paused,  morosely  examin- 
ing her. 

"Well?"  she  asked,  sitting  down  on  an  ottoman  near 
the  door,  her  hands  clasped  loosely  in  her  lap,  her  two 
little  feet  peeping  side  by  side  from  the  glitter  of  the  Court- 
mantle  she  had  flung  carelessly  across  her  lap,  her  im- 
perious head  at  an  exasperatingly  demure  angle.  "  Well  ?" 

"Well,"  he  said,  all  his  annoyance  against  her  suddenly 
giving  place  to  extreme  nervousness.  "Well,  my  dear- 
est aunt,  I  have  something — something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Very  probably,  or  else  you  would  not  keep  me  out  of 
bed  at  two  in  the  morning.  You  commanded,  I  obeyed 
— now  proceed." 

The  omnipotent  master  of  millions  of  souls  coughed, 
drew  off  one  of  the  white  gloves  he  still  wore,  and  coughed 
again. 

"The  Empress  and  I — "  he  began,  haltingly,  at  last. 

"Oh,  don't  mix  your  wife  in  the  matter,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "I  don't  like  feminine  influences.  Speak  up,  if 
you  have  a  grievance,  like  an  unsupported  man,  and  let's 
have  it  over." 

18 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Really,"  the  Tsar  protested  —  "really  you  have  a 
fashion  of  disconnecting  one's  ideas  which,  to  say  the 
least — " 

"That's  right,  say  the  least  you  possibly  can,  by  all 
means!  I'm  sleepy." 

She  stretched  her  arms  in  a  lazy  little  manner  of  her 
own,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  then  sat  once  more 
immovable  in  amusing  resignation. 

The  unhappy  Autocrat,  leaning  against  a  table  three 
feet  away,  felt  at  that  moment  like  giving  up  the  attempt 
to  which  he  had  been  forced,  and  retiring  in  complete 
disorder;  but  the  veiled  glance  measuring  him  between 
those  long  curved  lashes  spurred  him  suddenly  on,  and, 
in  a  tone  heavy  with  displeasure,  he  resumed: 

"Do  you  know  that  all  Petersburg  is  gossiping  about 
you  again?"  he  announced,  impressively. 

"Incorrigible  Petersburg!"  she  gravely  commented. 
"It's  the  most  discouraging  spot  on  earth,  I  really  be- 
lieve." 

The  Emperor  stamped  his  foot.  He  was  genuinely 
angry  now,  and  his  pale  face  was  slowly  flushing. 

"Now  don't  do  that,"  she  remonstrated,  still  with  per- 
fect gravity.  "  It's  unwise  in  a  place  where  bombs  may 
be  lurking  beneath  the  furniture  waiting  for  the  least 
shock  to  excuse  their  going  off." 

"Good  God!"  he  stormed,  "can't  you  be  serious  for  a 
single  minute?" 

"  Why  yes,  I  can  try  if  you  really  wish  it,  although  it's 
dreary  work  and  feels  unnatural!" 

He  passed  one  tremulous  hand  across  his  moist  fore- 
head, looking  so  helplessly  at  her  that  she  relented. 

"Oh,  do  go  on,  mon  petit,"  she  said,  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent tone;  "you'll  never  get  through  otherwise." 

He  accepted  the  olive  branch  gratefully,  and,  crossing 
3  19 


SNOW-FIRE 

over  to  her  side,  sat  down  on  the  narrow  space  left  free 
by  her  rippling  draperies. 

"I  will,  if  you  can  only  stop  turning  every  word  into 
ridicule,"  he  murmured,  with  averted  eyes.  "You  are 
the  best-hearted  woman  in  the  world,  Aunt  Daria,  and 
yet  you  can  make  yourself  more  supremely  impossible 
than  any  other  living  being." 

"Go  on,"  she  repeated.     "Go  on,  won't  you?" 

"You  don't  suppose  I  like  what  I  am  doing  now?" 
he  continued,  fretfully.  "  But,  you  see,  they  have  been 
coupling  your  name  with  young  Urlansky's  lately  to  an 
extent  which  can't  be  borne  any  longer." 

"Young  Urlansky— is  that  all?" 

"Is  that  all!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"Just  what  I  say — no  more,  no  less." 

"But  what  you  say  is  simply  monstrous — monstrous!" 

She  burst  into  most  genuinely  mirthful  laughter. 
"Why?"  she  questioned.  "To  judge  by  your  'again,' 
just  now,  one  may  be  allowed  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
this  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  made  the  sub- 
ject of  vitriolic  comment;  and  since,  after  all,  Urlansky 
is  a  very  presentable — even  quite  a  personable  —  patito, 
why  should  I  shed  tears  and  cast  ashes  upon  my  tiara, 
pray?" 

The  Tsar  jumped  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  once 
more  up  and  down,  speaking  now  in  short,  jerky  sentences. 
"That  you,  a  Grand-Duchess  of  Russia — a  wife — a  moth- 
er, and  a — " 

"Grandmother,"  she  cut  in. 

"Well,  yes — that's  true,  too,  although  you  don't  look 
it — worse  luck." 

"A  thousand  thanks  for  this  crumb  of  comfort." 

"As  I  said,  that  you — " 

20 


SNOW-FIRE 

"A  grandmother;  you've  said  it  already.     Continue." 

Her  sarcastic  intonation,  however,  gave  him  for  once 
the  courage  he  had  lacked  in  previous  interviews  of  a 
similar  nature,  and  he  went  on,  more  firmly,  "That  you 
should  accept  such — such — opprobrium  with  a  joke  and 
a  sneer — is  simply  astounding!" 

"So  is  your  ornate  language.  Where  do  you  fetch  it 
from  ? — monstrous — opprobrium !  You  must  feel  positive- 
ly exhausted  after  dredging  the  dictionary  like  that. 
But  here — wait  a  second,  and  let  us  come  to  terms — if 
that  is  what  you  wish.  I'm  very  fond  of  Serge  Urlansky; 
he  amuses  me,  and  sometimes  actually  succeeds  in  mak- 
ing me  lose  sight  of  the  joys  of  my  union  with  your  august 
uncle." 

"There  are  some  who  assert  that  he  also  makes  you 
forget  the  duties  as  well,"  he  burst  out,  with  the  boldness 
of  a  weaker  creature  cornered. 

"Duties!"  she  scoffed.  "What  duties  do  you  allude 
to  ?  There  is  nobody  behind  the  portieres  to  be  impressed, 
is  there?  So  you  needn't  speak  so  grandiloquently. 
Duties,  indeed!  You  know  very  well  that  I  married 
Stepan  Petrovich  when  I  was  sixteen  and  stupidly  in 
love  with  what  he  was  then — the  handsomest  Prince  in 
Europe — and  the  most  utterly  debauched,  though,  nat- 
urally, I  did  not  know  that  at  the  time.  But  I  soon 
found  it  out,  I  assure  you.  Yet  I  have  lived  in  outward 
amity  with  him  ever  since.  I  have  borne  him  four  beauti- 
ful children;  and  over  and  over  again  I  have  helped  him 
out  of  humiliating  scrapes ;  while  for  reward  he  has  never 
troubled  to  spare  me  one  shame,  one  sorrow,  or  one  heart- 
ache. And  now,  here  you  come,  a  boy  I  have  dandled 
on  my  lap,  prattling  about  duty  to  me!  Pshaw!" 

Overwhelmed  by  the  torrent,  the  Tsar  had  stopped  his 
exasperating  quarter-decking  and  stood  staring  at  her. 

91 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Still,"  he  faltered,  "guilty  as  he  has  been,  there  are 
your  children  to  think  of.  You  have  been  so  good  a 
mother — why  did  you  end  by  forgetting  them?" 

"I  don't  do  anything  of  the  sort,  to  begin  with.  They 
are  all  grown  up  and  far  from  the  nest."  Her  voice 
sagged  for  a  second,  but  only  for  a  second.  "My  chil- 
dren are  no  longer  in  question." 

"Mine  are,  though!"  he  interposed,  with  a  flash  of 
spirit  that  surprised  even  himself. 

"Nonsense,"  she  exclaimed;  then,  with  another  discon- 
certing change  of  front,  she  turned  upon  him  eyes  from 
which  all  harshness  had  disappeared.  "Oh,  well,  if  it's 
as  bad  as  that  I  don't  mind  meeting  your  reformatory 
plans  half-way,  but  on  one  condition  only,  and  it  is  that 
you  will  immediately  send  Serge  off  on  a  mission  some- 
where— a  distinguished  mission,  mind  you — preferably 
to  the  Caucasus  or  some  similar  spot,  with  which  com- 
munications are  difficult — because  if  he  stays  here  or 
hereabouts  I'll  go  on  seeing  him  as  before,  whether  you 
like  it  or  not." 

"  You  would  consent  to  let  him  go  ?"  the  Tsar  exclaimed, 
betraying  a  far  deeper  knowledge  of  the  situation  than 
he  had  wished  to  do.  "You  would  really  consent?" 

"What  a  poor  diplomat  you  are,"  she  said,  the  corners 
of  her  lovely  mouth  curling  a  little.  "  Yes,  I'll  consent — 
as  you  so  tactfully  put  it — but  only  on  those  conditions." 

"I  had  thought  that  perhaps  a  marriage — "  he  tim- 
idly ventured. 

"A  marriage — what  marriage?" 

"  Oh,  I  had  imagined  that  he  was  somewhat  taken  with 
Sacha  Virianow — you  know,  Princess  Sacha — and  that 
would  stop  the  gossip,  wouldn't  it? — at  least,  we — I — 
hoped  so." 

Daria  began  softly  to  beat  her  slim  fingers  together. 


SNOW-FIRE 

"My  compliments,"  she  murmured.  "My  compliments 
— truly,  a  masterly  idea.  The  only  drawback  is,  however, 
that  unfortunately  Princess  Sacha  is  very  much  taken — 
that's  the  proper  word,  is  it  not? — with  Alain  de  Coetmen, 
and  might  not  fall  in  easily  with  your  paternal  intentions 
regarding  Serge. 

"Coetmen,  of  the  Hussars  of  Grodno? — that  good- 
looking  chap  with  whom  you  were  admiring  orchids  just 
now?" 

"The  very  man." 

"  But  is  he  well  enough  off  to  propose  to  the  Virianow?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  she  has  six  hundred  thousand 
roubles  revenue.  That  should  seem  sufficient  for  two 
loving  hearts." 

"Yes,  assuredly;  but  he  is  a  Breton,  is  he  not? — and 
naturally  as  proud  as  the  devil." 

"  Pride  goes  before  a  fall  when  such  eyes  as  Sacha's  are 
the  lure." 

"  Perhaps — yes.  You  may  be  right.  Besides,  it  does 
not  concern  us." 

"It  doesn't,  eh?"  she  thought,  bitterly. 

"And  you  were  sincere  when  you  spoke  about  that 
mission  of  Urlansky — I  mean  about  your  ceasing  to  see 
him  if  I  do  what  you  suggest?"  he  continued. 

"I'd  have  to,  wouldn't  I? — excepting  I  follow  him 
to  the  Caucasian  wilds  —  I  think  you  mentioned  the 
Caucasus." 

"  The  Caucasus  ?     If  you  like — the  Caucasus,  certainly. ' ' 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  approved,  glancing  at  the  huge 
malachite  clock  towering  from  floor  to  ceiling  in  a  straight 
column  of  barbaric  green  against  the  dull  green  of  the 
tapestry.  "Have  you  had  enough  of  my  company," 
she  asked,  rising,  "  or  do  you  desire  to  prolong  this  agree- 
able interview?" 

23 


SNOW-FIRE 

She  stepped  to  the  nearest  window,  drew  aside  the  cur- 
tain, and  stood  with  her  back  toward  him,  gazing  unsee- 
ingly  at  the  dismal  gray  blackness  of  the  quay,  from 
which  all  moon-glitter  had  long  since  departed.  Had 
he  been  in  .an  observant  mood,  he  might,  perhaps,  have 
noticed  the  sudden  droop  of  her  shoulders  and  the  way 
in  which  her  hands  hung  at  her  sides;  but  he  was  too 
jubilant  over  the  amazing  success  of  his  enterprise  to 
notice  details,  and  his  very  genuine  gratitude  prompted 
him  only  to  thank  her,  much  as  he  had  done  years  before 
when  she  had  given  him  bonbons. 

"You  have  been  awfully  good,  Aunt  Daria,"  he  said, 
joining  her  at  the  window,  taking  one  of  her  small  limp 
hands,  that  felt  strangely  cold  through  the  suede  glove, 
and  raising  it  to  his  lips. 

She  whirled  round  and  gave  a  queer  little  laugh.  "  Very 
good  ?"  she  asked.  "  Yes,  perhaps,  but  don't  be  too  sure !" 
And,  bending  toward  him,  she  kissed  him  lightly  on  the 
forehead. 

"  It's  you  who  are  a  good  boy — a  very  good  boy  in 
your  way.  And  now  I  will  go;  but  don't  forget  your 
promise." 

"  By-the-bye,"  she  added,  pausing  half-way  to  the 
door,  "let  him  bs  off  soon — Serge,  I  mean.  I  have  a 
horror  of  lingerings.  Don't  give  him  a  chance  to  say  too 
many  au  revoirs.  A  secret  mission  —  one  of  which  he 
is  not  allowed  to  speak — would  be  the  best." 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  the  Emperor  objected. 
"Why  the  secrecy  and  the  hurry?" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  impatiently  exclaimed,  planted 
straight  as  an  arrow  in  front  of  him,  "that  I  am  doing 
enough  without  being  annoyed  by  silly  questions.  Will 
you — yes  or  no — do  as  I  say?  If  you  will  not,  or  if  you 
so  much  as  hint  what  has  just  passed  between  us  either 

24 


SNOW-FIRE 

to  your  mother  or  to  your  wife,  then  I  take  back  my 
promise,  and  I'll  make  you  sorry  for  not  having  kept 
your  own." 

"I  will  do  what  you  wish — I  give  you  my  word,"  he 
hastily  assured  her;  and  before  he  had  time  to  escort  her- 
to  the  staircase  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  balance  turns;  the  fateful  beam 
Poised  to  a  thought's  weight,  or  a  dream, 
Quivers — inclines — for  Good  or  111? 
Breathe  not,  and  still,  my  heart — be  still; 
Lo,  how  with  Shapes  the  shadows  teem! 

Bat- winged  and  feathered,  throng  and  stream 
Thine  Hours;  innumerable  seem 
Their  hands  to  clutch  and  strive,  until 
The  balance  turns. 

Dark  Things  ye  long-forgotten  deem, 
Fair  Deeds,  and  Words  of  light  esteem, 
They  swarm  and  whisper,  peep  and  thrill — 
Now  may  this  prayer  the  Power  fulfil, 
That  drawn  by  Moments  of  the  Gleam 
The  balance  turns! 

M.  M. 

SERGE  URLANSKY  was  a  young  man  of  taste  in  more 
respects  than  one,  and  his  apartment,  with  its  row  of  im- 
mense windows  overlooking  the  Neva,  testified  as  much. 
There  everything  was  sober  and  luxurious  after  the 
fashion  that  is  inherited  and  not  acquired,  every  single 
object  of  notable  beauty  and  worth,  but  in  a  quiet  un- 
obtrusive way,  and  the  profusion  of  blossoming  plants 
filling  every  available  space  betrayed  not  effeminacy  but 
the  extravagant  passion  for  flowers  which  has  its  home 
in  every  Russian  heart,  though  only  a  privileged  few  can 
satisfy  it. 

His  favorite   room,  which  he  facetiously  called  "the 


SNOW-FIRE 

study,"  perhaps  because  he  read  seldom,  and  excepting 
when  obliged  to  reply  to  an  invitation  never  rendered 
himself  guilty  of  writing  a  line,  was  rather  typical,  with 
its  wonderful  arras-covered  walls,  upon  which  groups 
of  arms  were  intermingled  with  trophies  of  the  chase, 
whip-racks,  and  a  selection  of  exquisite  but  rather  racy 
aquarelles. 

For  a  wonder,  on  the  afternoon  following  the  ball  at 
the  Winter  Palace,  Serge  was  sitting  before  the  big  square 
desk  ordinarily  so  neglected,  both  elbows  on  the  blotter, 
his  head  leaning  on  his  fists  and  his  blue  eyes  scowling 
at  a  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  instructions  writ  small  in 
an  august  and  seldom-seen  hand. 

He  had  just  returned  from  an  interview  which  had  filled 
him  with  troubled  surprise,  and  do  what  he  might  he 
could  not  yet  quite  realize  what  had  happened  to  him. 
Why,  indeed,  he,  a  Court  butterfly,  young  and  inexperi- 
enced, had  been  selected,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  for  a 
mission  of  apparently  extreme  importance,  demanding 
little  less  than  genius  in  its  execution,  passed  his  under- 
standing; and  presently,  after  a  prolonged  scrutiny,  he 
raised  his  head  with  a  word  of  more  vigor  than  politeness. 

Straight  in  front  of  him,  on  the  other  edge  of  the  desk, 
stood  an  icon-shaped  frame  of  polychrome  enamels,  its 
two  little  doors  pushed  to  but  unlocked,  and  almost  me- 
chanically he  pulled  them  open,  revealing  a  delicate 
miniature  upon  a  background  of  azure  velvet.  The  per- 
fect oval  of  the  face,  the  proud,  chiselled  features,  the 
superb  eyes — that  many  thought  too  harsh,  but  that  he 
had  seen  so  often  transfigured  with  tenderness — seemed 
lifelike  in  the  cold  straw-colored  sunlight  stealing  from 
a  near-by  window.  It  was  perhaps  the  most  successful 
of  Daria's  portraits.  The  absence  of  jewels,  and  the 
vaporous  gauze  draperies  crossed  by  a  cordon  of  pale 

27 


SNOW-FIRE 

violets  falling  away  from  her  white  shoulders  made  her 
look  almost  girlish. 

For  fully  ten  minutes  Serge  stared  at  the  gracious 
image  as  if  bent  on  making  it  answer  an  unspoken  ques- 
tion, and  so  fixed  was  his  gaze  that  once  or  twice  he  actu- 
ally fancied  that  a  derisive  little  smile  flitted  upon  her 
lips.  Could  it  be  she  who  was  sending  him  away  for  an 
indeterminate  period?  She  was  powerful  enough  to  do 
so,  as  he  well  knew;  but  then  what  of  the  jealous  watch 
that  she  constantly  kept  over  his  slightest  actions,  and 
of  the  exacting  affection  which  made  her  keep  him  so 
strictly  within  call  and  summons?  No!  No!  Daria 
would  not  willingly  bring  about  a  separation  of  even  a 
few  weeks — that  was  quite  out  of  the  question. 

He  had  but  just  come  to  this  conclusion  when  Captain 
de  Coetmen  was  announced.  Hastily  shutting  the  frame 
and  slipping  the  document  into  a  drawer,  he  rose  to  greet 
the  man  he  held,  perhaps,  in  highest  regard  and  esteem. 

"I'm  glad  I  caught  you  at  home,  Serge,"  the  Breton 
said,  accepting  the  chair  pushed  toward  him,  "for  I've 
come  to  make  you  a  proposal." 

"A  proposal  demanding  full-dress!"  Serge  cried,  point- 
ing to  the  irreproachable  green  uniform,  whose  black  and 
silver  aiguillettes  contrasted  so  coquettishly  with  its 
cherry-hued  passepoils.  "  I'm  overwhelmed  by  the  com- 
pliment." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  Alain  laughed,  "  I  do  look  pretty 
gorgeous,  don't  I?  But  unfortunately  I  did  not  get  my- 
self into  my  most  glittering  harness  for  you — I'm  but 
newly  released  from  a  'command'  to  the  Palais-Stepan. 
They  treat  one  to  some  excellent  tea  there,  by  the 
way." 

"Yellow  Caravan,  my  dear  fellow.  Stepan-Petrovich, 
who  never  touches  a  drop  of  so  harmless  a  beverage  him- 

28 


SNOW-FIRE 

self,  strictly  forbids  the  use  of  any  other  kind  within  his 
portals.  But  how  did  you  come  to  be  'commanded'  to 
call  there  to-day?  Has  your  Colonel  gone  daft?" 

"No,  he  is  innocent.  When  I  said  'commanded'  I 
merely  meant  that  having  received  a  most  sudden  invita- 
tion for  the  famous  masked  dance  to-night,  I  could  not 
avoid  calling  to-day;  that's  all." 

'"Could  not  avoid'  is  rough  on  Daria-Mikaelovna,'' 
Serge  interrupted,  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  a  bear  I  am — which  brings  me 
back  to  my  reasons  for  coming  to  bother  you." 

"And  that  is—?" 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  take  me  under  your  wing 
this  evening?  Don't  laugh  at  me.  It  is  my  first  expe- 
rience of  the  kind,  and  my  native  clumsiness  is  sure  to 
play  me  tricks  if  I  go  unchaperoned  by  some  social  vet- 
eran like  yourself." 

"I?  I'll  be  versts  and  versts  away  by  midnight!" 
Serge  exclaimed,  before  he  knew  it. 

"You?     Where  are  you  going  to?" 

To  give  himself  time,  the  Chevalier- Garde  tossed  his 
cigarette-case  across  to  Alain. 

"The  Starchina,"  he  began,  while  the  other  was  light- 
ing a  La  Ferme,  "  of  my  village  of  Ostroff  has  sent  for  me 
in  hot  haste — there  is  trouble — the  people  are  unruly,  it 
appears."  The  explanation  was  given  in  so  easy  a  way, 
and  was,  besides,  so  plausible  just  then,  that  Alain  never 
dreamed  of  doubting  its  truth. 

"And  you  have  obtained  leave  without  difficulty?" 
he  asked,  blowing  out  the  match  and  throwing  it  into  a 
cloisonne"  ash-bowl. 

"Quite  without  difficulty,"  Serge  replied,  concealing 
a  smile;  "but  let  me  see.  The  Grand-Ducal  dance  will 
be  very  early,  almost  a  Cinderella.  What  if  I  go  there 

29 


SNOW-FIRE 

with  you  and  slide  away  unnoticed  when  you  have  gained 
your  footing?" 

"I  wish  you  would — if  it  does  not  interfere  too  much 
with  your  plans,  that  is.  But  as  to  your  sliding  away 
unnoticed,  it's  another  affair. " 

"Why  not,  since  until  midnight  dominos  and  masks 
will  be  retained?" 

"Oh,  Lord!  I  was  forgetting  about  that.  Where  am 
I  to  procure  a  domino — or  a  fancy  costume,  for  the  matter 
of  that — on  such  short  notice?" 

"Right  here,"  Serge  interposed.  "You  couldn't  have 
come  to  a  better  shop.  You  see,  I  can  remain  in  uniform 
under  my  domino,  as  I'm  not  going  to  stay,  and  so,  since 
we  are  pretty  nearly  of  the  same  height  and  build,  you 
can  wear  the  costume  I  had  ordered  for  myself — a  strik- 
ing one,  too,  if  I  do  say  it." 

"That's  awfully  nice  of  you,  Urlansky!"  the  hussar  ex- 
claimed, rising  from  his  chair.  "A  friend  in  need — you 
know  the  rest.  I'd  better  come  and  dress  here,  perhaps  ?" 

"Naturally;  it  will  save  a  lot  of  trouble  and  running 
about.  But  why  are  you  going  so  soon — worthy  de- 
scendant of  Du  Guesclin?" 

"He  left  no  children,"  Alain  modestly  corrected. 
"We  descend  only  from  his  brother." 

Serge  burst  out  laughing.  "Most  people  would  be 
satisfied  even  with  that,"  he  commented,  looking  affec- 
tionately at  his  friend.  "Wait  a  moment,  though;  I'll 
tell  Ye'gor  to  show  you  the  costume,  and  then  I'll  drive 
you  back  to  your  'diggings,'  for  I've  several  errands  to 
make.  By-the-bye,  I  really  think  you'll  be  pleased  when 
you  see  what  the  costume  is — for,  strangely  enough,  it's 
something  quite  in  your  line,"  he  concluded,  laughing 
boyishly  and  violently  pulling  the  bell-rope. 

The  sun  was  descending  toward  the  horizon  when  the 

30 


SNOW-FIRE 

two  young  men,  wrapped  in  their  long  cavalry  cloaks, 
jumped  into  Serge's  sleigh  and  were  whirled  off  by  the 
three  beautiful  bays  which  were  quite  as  much  the  pride 
of  his  heart  as  his  superb  coachman — unique  in  St.  Peters- 
burg for  his  imposing  corpulency  and  the  astonishing 
golden  beard  falling  over  his  fur-bordered  kaftan  down 
to  the  waist.  A  troika  that  respects  itself  must  absolutely 
be  driven  by  a  bearded  izvoshtchik,  and  Serge,  who  never 
did  things  by  halves,  enthusiastically  paid  Dmitri  ab- 
surd wages  so  it  might  be  said  that  "young  Urlansky's" 
turnout  was  the  most  chic  on  the  Newsky. 

To-day  the  repeated  "Skarei,  skarei!"  of  his  master,  as 
soon  as  Alain  had  been  left  at  his  own  door,  made  the 
talented  Dmitri  exceed  even  the  swiftness  of  his  daily 
flight  along  the  fashionable  promenade,  which  was  twice 
traversed  from  end  to  end  before  the  horses  were  allowed 
to  slacken  their  pace.  There  were  a  great  many  equi- 
pages there,  but  the  well-known  little  egoiste  sleigh,  with 
its  golden-brown  team  draped  in  guard-nets  of  white 
silk,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  Serge  cursed  his  luck. 
He  had  hoped  to  meet  Princess  Sacha,  and  perhaps  induce 
her  to  take  a  cup  of  chocolate  at  the  fashionable  con- 
fectioner's— a  perfectly  permissible  thing  for  a  widow  now 
out  of  mourning.  Daria  was  certainly  sunk  in  prep- 
arations for  her  fete,  since  on  such  occasions  she  always 
made  a  point  of  superintending  everything,  more  or  less, 
herself,  and  the  moment  for  an  escapade  was  propitious; 
but  evidently  the  God  of  Love  was  not  in  his  favor,  and 
reluctantly,  at  last,  he  gave  the  order  to  return  home, 
where  much  demanded  his  attention. 

The  sinking  sun  had  begun  to  bathe  the  great  snow- 
clad  city  in  startling  ruby  tints.  Every  roof  was  vivid 
pink,  while  the  long  shadows  cast  by  the  buildings  were 
of  the  most  delicate  apple-green.  In  a  few  minutes, 

31 


SNOW-FIRE 

however,  the  general  tone  changed  to  orange,  the  shadows 
to  purest  azure,  and  so  remained  until  orange  faded  to 
gold,  azure  deepened  into  violet,  and,  as  the  foam-flecked 
horses  were  pulled  up  in  front  of  Serge's  house,  the  lumin- 
ous northern  gloaming  crept  up  over  the  snow,  gathering 
up  all  of  those  brilliant  hues  in  its  mantle  of  gray-silver 
as  it  passed  on,  evidently  loath  to  let  anything  shine  but 
itself,  and  the  pale  aurora  pulsating  over  one-quarter  of 
the  sky. 

Poor  Serge !  The  first  excitement  of  the  surprising  dis- 
tinction of  which  he  was  being  made  the  object  had 
passed,  and  he  felt  bitterly  dispirited  as  he  re-entered  the 
room,  now  warm  with  fire  and  lamps,  that  he  had  left  an 
hour  or  so  before.  He  was  disgusted  with  himself,  too, 
for  not  having  plucked  up  enough  courage  to  go  and  call 
on  Sacha.  He  must  be  getting  timid,  like  Coetmen — 
an  unimagined  state  of  affairs  with  this  bold  lieutenant 
in  the  fastest  corps  dTelite  that  draws  sword.  He  knew 
very  well  that  he  had  been  afraid  of  her  eyes — they  had  a 
trick  of  turning  his  heart  inside  out,  and  his  secret  must 
not  be  wrenched  from  him.  Also,  it  was  not  yet  possible 
to  ask  her  to  marry  him.  He  was — especially  since  the 
previous  evening — still  in  honor  bound  to  Daria,  and  as 
he  had  lacked  the  pluck  to  accept  freedom  when  she  so 
generously  offered  it,  all  he  could  do  now  was  to  wait; 
and  perhaps  under  the  circumstances  his  absence  would  be 
for  the  best.  Fortunately,  he  was  almost  certain  that 
Sacha  loved  him  and  would  wait  also;  enough  had  been 
said  on  both  sides  to  make  this  at  any  rate  probable,  and 
while  he  was  gone  Daria  might,  perhaps,  forget  him. 

But,  curiously  enough,  at  that  thought  he  suddenly 
checked.  Would  he  really  be  pleased  to  find  himself 
forgotten?  He  brought  his  teeth  down,  viciously,  on 
his  underlip,  and  rose  from  the  divan  where  he  had  sat 

33 


SNOW-FIRE 

down  to  smoke  a  restful  cigarette.  What!  was  he  still 
so  fond  of  her,  then,  that  the  mere  idea  of  being  forgotten 
— perhaps  supplanted — angered  him?  Evidently  he  did 
not  know  his  own  mind,  for  an  hour  ago  he  would  not  only 
have  sworn  that  he  belonged  heart  and  soul  to  Sacha, 
but  that  his  whole  future  was  centred  upon  her. 

With  an  angry  exclamation  he  strode  toward  the  open 
brass  doors  of  the  huge  majolica  stove,  filling  one  angle  of 
the  room,  and  kicked  them  to.  The  red  glow  annoyed 
him,  apparently,  and  he  retreated  again  to  the  far  corner 
where  his  favorite  lounge  groaned  as  he  threw  himself 
once  more  at  full  length  upon  the  heavy  cushions.  On  a 
small  bancal  at  his  side  the  samovar  hissed  and  purred  in- 
vitingly, but  he  did  not  want  any  tea  just  now — to  be 
left  in  peace  was  what  he  desired  until  Ye"gor  came  to 
dress  him  for  dinner — so  he  resolutely  shut  his  eyes  and 
went  on  warring  with  himself  in  the  rosy  gloom  made  by 
the  distant  and  carefully  shaded  lamps. 

Gradually  the  deep  silence  and  mellow  flower-scented 
warmth,  coming  after  that  icy  air  outside,  began  to  soothe 
his  jangled  nerves.  For  a  space  the  images  of  the  two 
women  kept  vaguely  appearing  and  disappearing  before 
his  moody  eyes,  as  in  some  shifting  camera-obscura ;  then 
slowly  that  of  Sacha  became  more  distinct  and  absorbing, 
with  its  pale  shining  coronal  of  hair  like  a  halo  about  her 
exquisite  face,  and  those  extraordinary  eyes  of  hers 
seemed  to  draw  him  irresistibly  onward;  while  Daria's 
more  imperious  beauty  receded  into  indeterminate  haze 
and  finally  vanished  altogether.  He  was  getting  drowsy, 
too,  which  might  account  for  the  unreality  of  sensations 
that  strongly  resembled  those  of  a  dream,  and  not  al- 
together a  pleasant  dream,  either,  in  spite  of  the  loveliness 
of  its  two  subjects,  because  through  it  all  the  oppressive- 
ness of  impending  misfortune  was  interwoven. 

33 


SNOW-FIRE 

Superstitious,  as  all  Russians  are,  he  sought  to  free  him- 
self from  these  unpleasant  forebodings,  strove  to  see 
clearer,  to  control  the  visions,  but  without  the  least  suc- 
cess ;  for  any  effort  in  that  direction  only  made  the  phan- 
tasmagoria denser  and  less  comprehensible,  with  its  patch- 
work of  incidents  bewilderingly  gliding  one  over  the 
other.  At  one  instant  a  moment  of  his  life  with  Daria 
shone  suddenly  forth,  restoring  to  her  for  the  time  being 
all  the  charm  and  seduction  he  knew  so  well;  then  Sacha 
was  there  again,  a  breathing  vision,  for  he  fancied  he  could 
hear  the  pretty  laugh,  and  see  the  sensitive  color  rise  and 
fall  as  it  always  did  when  she  was  animated.  Oh  yes, 
he  loved  her  with  all  his  might,  and  yet — 

"  Will  Your  Nobility  deign  to  rise  ?  It  is  three-quarters 
after  six  o'clock,  and  Your  Nobility  has  ordered  dinner 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual." 

Serge  rose  on  his  elbow  and  gazed  uncomprehendingly 
at  the  faithful  Ye'gor.  "My  Nobility,"  he  said  at  last, 
"has  deigned  to  fall  asleep." 

Yegor  turned  away  to  conceal  a  smile.  He  was  proud 
of  his  handsome  young  master,  and  quite  slavishly  de- 
voted to  him — for  had  he  not  brought  him  up  ? — and  so 
even  his  smallest  jokes  always  aroused  an  almost  pater- 
nally tender  emotion  in  the  gray-haired  servitor. 

"What  time  did  you  say,  Ye'gor?"  Serge  demanded, 
yawning  and  stretching  dismally. 

"Three-quarters  after  six,  five  minutes  ago." 

"Nothing  like  being  scrupulously  exact.  And  I  sup- 
pose you  want  me  to  dress  now?" 

"It  would  be  wiser,"  Ye'gor  admitted.  "And  if  Your 
Nobility  desires  no  tea,  we  might  as  well  send  away  the 
samovar.  I  don't  know  if  I  alone  notice  it,  but  a  samovar 
that  has  not  been  used  has  a  disagreeable  smell." 

"A  sort  of  resentful  effluvium?"  Serge  commented, 

34 


SNOW-FIRE 

walking  toward  his  dressing-room  door,  while  Yegor 
hastened  to  summon  one  of  his  numerous  underlings  to 
remove  the  object  of  his  displeasure. 

"  By-the-way,  Ye"gor,"  said  Serge,  beginning  to  unfasten 
his  undress  uniform,  "Captain  de  Coetmen  will  be  here 
at  nine  to  attire  himself  in  my  fancy  costume." 

"Your  fine  costume  that  we  took  such  trouble  with!" 
Ydgor  scolded,  forgetting  in  his  surprise  to  employ  the 
third  person,  and  in  the  tone  of  the  old-fashioned  Russian 
servant,  who  one  minute  treats  his  master  like  a  demi-god 
and  the  next  as  one  might  a  helpless  and  irresponsible 
infant. 

"Just  so;  my  fine  costume  that  we  took  so  much 
trouble  with!  But  since  I  cannot  wear  it  myself,  what 
does  it  matter  to  you — or  to  me?" 

"Why  can't  you  wear  it,  my  young  master,  under  the 
domino?  It  was  another  of  Her  Imperial  Highness's 
funny  ideas  to  make  gentlemen  wear  dominos  as  well  as 
ladies.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  before." 

Serge's  blue  eyes  twinkled  as  they  turned  upon  Ye"gor, 
now  actively  preparing  the  bath,  and  emerging  from  the 
veil  of  steam  rising  from  the  great  sunken  marble  tub  like 
a  High  Priest  from  a  cloud  of  incense. 

"Dear  me,"  he  said,  "you  should  have  told  her  that." 

"  I  came  pretty  near  it  when  she  cautioned  me  not  to 
forget  that  the  hood  of  your  domino  should  shade  the 
whole  face  and  project  well  over  the  mask,  but  she  did 
not  give  me  time.  She  said  it  would  be  amusing  to  watch 
the — let  me  see — oh  yes,  the  complications — whatever  it 
means,  and  then  she  laughed  the  fill  of  her  pretty  throat. 
The  Saints  bless  her — she ' s  always  laughing !  But  here ,  the 
water  is  just  right  to  get  into,  and  I'll  heat  the  towels." 

Serge's  smile  had  disappeared.  "  She's  always  laugh- 
ing! Poor  Daria!"  he  thought,  with  a  wave  of  remorse. 
4  35 


SNOW-FIRE 

How  merrily  she  had  planned  all  the  details  of  the  in- 
triguing and  manoeuvring  for  to-night — the  last  he  would 
spend  at  her  house  for  a  long  time  perhaps.  He  hurried 
so  silently  over  the  next  stages  of  his  toilet  that  Yegor  grew 
seriously  concerned. 

"You  haven't  caught  a  chill?"  he  peremptorily  de- 
manded. "  It  would  be  a  nice  beginning  to  your  journey ; 
and  in  weather  like  this,  too!" 

Serge  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You're  raving,  my 
good  Ye"gor.  Since  when  have  you  known  me  to  catch 
chills  ?  And  to  speak  of  something  more  important,  have 
you  here  some  trustworthy  understrapper  whom  one 
could  confide  an  errand  to?" 

"Hum-m-m-m,"  Yegor  pondered,  "it  depends  on  the 
errand — but  yes,  there  is  Sava,  the  son  of  our  head  game- 
keeper at  Vela;  he  whom  Your  Nobility  brought  back 
last  time.  He  is  a  good  lad,  and  not  so  stupid  when  he 
tries — he  might  do.  What  is  it  Your  Nobility  wishes  him 
to  undertake?" 

Serge  paused  before  the  mirror,  a  hair-brush  in  either 
hand,  his  yellow  hair  on  end,  and  for  a  whole  minute  did 
not  answer. 

"Tell  me,  Y£gor,"  he  asked  at  last:  "If  you  decided 
to  send  flowers  every  morning  for  an  indeterminate  period 
to — to  somebody,  would  you  send  them  by  a  servant — 
a  trustworthy  servant — mind  you,  or  leave  orders  at  the 
florist's?" 

Yegor  turned  brusquely  round.  "  If  I  decided  to  send 
flowers? —  Heaven  forgive  us — !"  he  exclaimed. 

Serge  laughed.  "The  case  is  simple,"  he  explained, 
resuming  his  vigorous  brushings;  "I  want,  during  my 
absence,  to  be  sure  that  a  certain  lady  will  receive  every 
morning  a  bouquet  of  white  rosebuds — her  favorites." 

"Pardon,  Excellency — violets;  not  white  rosebuds." 

36 


SNOW-FIRE 

Serge  spun  around,  still  desperately  brushing.  "Vio- 
lets?" he  inquired. 

"Why  yes;  Your  Excellency  knows  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

"Oh!"  and  again,  "Oh!"  was  all  he  found  in  reply  to 
this  disconcerting  statement  at  first;  then,  with  his  face 
once  more  turned  toward  the  glass,  he  hastily  re-began: 

"Well,  violets  or  rosebuds  or  any  other  nice-smelling 
things.  Would  you  sooner  trust  a  servant  or  a  florist  to 
deliver  them — if  it  were  you?" 

"If  it  were  me,  I  wouldn't  send  any  at  all — not  any  at 
all,"  Ydgor  declared,  sagely.  "  But  seeing  it  is  otherwise, 
then  trust  the  florist,  never  the  servant.  That's  my 
advice,  since  Your  Excellency  condescends  to  ask  it," 
he  concluded,  falling  again  into  the  way  of  the  perfectly 
trained  valet. 

"  All  right.  I  think  you  speak  sooth ;  so  as  soon  as  I  am 
gone  to  dinner,  put  on  your  coat  and  go  to  the  Court 
florist,  where  you  will  give  suitable  instructions  for  a 
large  sheaf  of  white  rosebuds — not  violets — to  be  sent 
every  morning  until  the  order  is  countermanded  to  Prin- 
cess Sacha  -  Basilic vna  Virianow,  and  you  will  pay  five 
hundred  rubles  in  advance." 

Y£gor  stood  for  a  moment  staring  fixedly  at  his  master, 
his  arms  hanging  at  his  sides.  "To  the  Princess  Sacha 
Virianow,"  he  dully  echoed;  "the  Princess  Sacha?" 

"Certainly,  the  Princess  Sacha;  that's  what  I  said, 
isn't  it?"  Serge  impatiently  responded. 

"That's  what  you  ought  not  to  have  said,  though,  my 
young  master,"  the  irrepressible  Y£gor  stoutly  declared. 

Serge  glanced  at  him,  and  tried  to  turn  the  respectful 
reprimand  into  a  joke.  "Might  I  inquire  why  not?"  he 
exclaimed,  with  an  embarrassed  laugh. 

"Oh,  forgive  an  old  man  who  loves  you  as  his  own 
child,  my  dear  young  master  —  forgive  him  and  listen! 

37 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  Urlanskys  have  always  been  loyal — none  of  them 
have  ever  broken  their  word  or  their  troth.  I  can't  see 
you  be  the  first  who  does  and  remain  silent — I,  who 
carried  you  in  my  arms — a  little,  little  baby!"  There 
were  tears  in  the  poor  fellow's  eyes,  and  his  voice  was 
trembling. 

Serge  for  a  few  seconds  said  nothing,  realizing  how 
stupid  he  had  been  to  betray  himself,  and  how  impossible 
it  was  to  explain  away  his  blunder.  Ye"gor  adored  the 
Grand- Duchess,  who  always  treated  him  with  that 
kindliness  which  endeared  her  to  all  her  inferiors;  more- 
over, for  many  years  he  had  followed  the  Court  from  place 
to  place,  first  with  Serge's  father,  a  favorite  aide-de-camp 
of  the  late  Tsar,  then  with  Serge  himself,  and  he  was  in- 
timately acquainted  with  all  the  circumstances  of  Daria's 
life,  as  well  as  with  the  history  of  those  years  which  re- 
lated to  his  present  master.  It  was,  therefore,  idle  to  try 
and  lead  him  astray,  and  Serge  gave  it  up. 

"  Look  here,  Y6gor,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  cannot  go  into 
a  long  story  now,  there's  no  time;  but  as  soon  as  we  are 
on  the  road  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  because  I  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  look  upon  you  as  my  foster-father — and," 
he  added  a  little  shamefacedly,  "  my  best  friend,  too — I 
know  it  very  well.  Meanwhile  obey  me;  I'm  ready  now; 
you  can  go  and  do  that  errand — it's  all  right,  don't  worry. 
You  can  trust  me;  you  know  it."  He  patted  Yegor's 
arm  lightly,  fastened  the  last  button  of  his  tunic  with 
slightly  tremulous  fingers,  and  with  a  "Go  at  once," 
which  this  time  was  an  irrevocable  order,  went  quickly 
out  of  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Ye"gor  mechanically  picked  up  the  various 
articles  of  clothing  scattered  upon  chairs  and  sofas,  then 
paused  in  front  of  the  big  fire  of  fir-logs  dancing  on  the 
hearth. 

38 


SNOW-FIRE 

"He  is  young,"  he  soliloquized,  "and  he  means  no 
harm,  but  he'd  be  sorry  afterward — and  it  would  break 
her  heart."  He  shook  himself  together,  glanced  around 
the  now  admirably  tidy  room,  and  straightened  up  like  a 
soldier  on  parade. 

"It's  for  me  to  be  wise  for  us  two,"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
"so  I'm  going  to  order  violets  for  our  Grand-Duchess 
Daria,  and  no  white  rosebuds  at  all — nasty  sickly  things! 
When  he  comes  back  he'll  be  the  first  to  thank  me." 
With  which  he  departed  on  his  errand,  happy  in  his 
decision  and  very  light  of  heart. 


CHAPTER  III 

Since  you  must  go,  I  can  no  more 
Than  wait  beside  my  heartes  Doore, 
That  open  wyde  shall  stande,  untill 
Some  Rumor  of  youre  Cominge  fill 
The  House  with  Musick,  as  before. 

Till  then  no  Guest  shall  treade  ittes  floore 
Save  twaine,  that  knowe  not  Mirth  her  lore, 
Wan  Hope,  and  Pain  her  sister  still — 
Since  you  must  go. 

And  twixt  the  heavie  Day  and  sore, 
And  naked  Dawninge,  gray  and  hoare, 
The  Voices  of  the  House  shall  thrill 
And  crye  for  you;  soe  Darknesse  will 
Seem  a  Dead  Sea  without  a  shore, 
Since  you  must  go. 

M.  M. 

/ 

A  FAIRY  palace,  indeed,  looked  the  Palais-Stepan  when 
Serge  Urlansky  and  Alain  de  Coetmen,  wrapped  in  their 
black  dominos,  ascended  the  flower-laden  stairs.  Loops 
and  strings  of  tiny  pink  electric  bulbs  wound  in  and  out 
of  the  garlands  of  apple-blossoms  and  feathery  foliage, 
that  meandered  from  room  to  room  like  a  continuous 
promise  of  spring,  while  every  angle  was  filled  with  little 
cherry-trees  in  full  bloom,  backed  by  graceful  palms  that 
reached  to  the  very  ceiling.  The  enfilade  of  salons  had  a 
look  of  youthful  and  dewy  freshness,  a  daintiness  and  a 
delicacy  difficult  to  describe,  and  the  strains  of  a  string- 
band  re-enforced  only  by  hautbois  and  flutes  gave  the 

40 


SNOW-FIRE 

finishing  touch  to  the  pastoral  and  Louis  XVI.  effect 
Daria  had  sought  to  produce. 

Equally  tall,  and,  as  Serge  had  said,  of  very  much  the 
same  build,  each  of  the  two  young  officers  seemed  a 
ridiculously  faithful  replica  of  the  other  as  they  slowly 
pressed  on  through  the  throng  of  maskers  crowding  the 
immense  rooms,  and  watched  through  the  slits  of  their 
velvet  face-coverings  for  some  trick  of  gait  or  manner  that 
might  betray  to  them  the  personalities  they  courteously 
elbowed.  Serge,  thoroughly  trained  to  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  such  entertainments,  manoeuvred  with 
consummate  skill,  but  with  Alain  it  was  different;  and  he 
was  becoming  hopelessly  bewildered,  when  a  little  hand, 
gloved  in  tan-colored  suede,  slipped  through  his  arm,  and 
a  laughing  voice — made  utterly  unrecognizable  by  the 
drooping  laces  of  the  pale  pink  domino-hood,  and  the 
thick  guipure  worn  instead  of  the  classical  mask — ad- 
dressed him  in  approved  classical  fashion  with  a  "  Where 
are  you  going,  beau  masque?"  to  which  poor  Alain  rather 
stupidly  responded,  "I  don't  know." 

The  little  hand  shook  with  laughter.  "Oh,  you  don't 
know!  Then  come  with  me  awhile  and  I'll  tell  you  your 
fortune." 

"  It  will  soon  be  told,"  he  said,  plucking  up  spirit,  "  and 
will  give  you  no  trouble  at  all,  fair  lady." 

"Think  you  so?"  she  mocked,  drawing  him  on  toward 
a  recess  draped  with  drooping  fern-fronds,  where  a 
scented  fountain  rose  sparkling  from  its  nacre  basin. 
"Give  me  your  hand,  that  I  may  read." 

Alain  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the  piquancy  of  this 
novel  amusement,  and  tried  to  guess  who  she  could  be. 
The  Grand-Duchess,  perhaps?  But  no,  Daria  was  much 
taller — such  stratagems  as  the  discarding  of  high  heels 
and  the  lowering  of  a  coiffure  were  unknown  to  this  simple 

41 


SNOW-FIRE 

manly  soul.  Sacha  then?  This  would  be  about  her 
height,  and  yes;  was  there  not  a  hint  of  exquisitely  pale 
curls  just  there,  where  the  laces  met  over  the  temples? 
His  heart  quickened  a  little  at  the  thought,  and  willingly 
following  her  into  the  comparative  dusk  of  that  fragrant 
green  nook,  he  pushed  back  one  sleeve,  ungloved,  and  put 
out  his  hand,  palm  upward. 

Softly,  almost  caressingly,  she  pretended  with  one 
slender  finger  to  follow  the  fateful  lines,  crooning  to  her- 
self words  he  could  not  catch,  strain  his  hearing  as  he 
might;  then  suddenly  she  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  drew 
back  as  if  in  extreme  surprise. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  quite  serious  now.  "Won't 
you  tell  me?" 

"Yes — y-e-s — "  she  answered,  "I  will  tell  you  if  you 
insist."  She  bent  forward  again,  and  the  musky  perfume 
of  the  white  rosebuds,  attached  to  her  shoulder  by  a 
bar  of  diamonds,  threw  the  scented  fountain  wholly  into 
the  background. 

"I  do  insist,"  he  whispered,  impressed  by  her  grav- 
ity. 

"Well,"  the  prettily  muffled  voice  resumed,  "you  are  a 
lucky  man,  whoever  you  are — a  very  lucky  man!  for 
you  are  loved  very  dearly." 

Alain,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  flying  skirts  of  comedy 
again,  laughed,  gayly.  "Dear  me,"  he  said,  "you  don't 
say  so!" 

If  a  feeling  of  deep  offense  can  be  conveyed  by  the 
rustling  folds  of  a  satin  domino,  and  the  brusque  straight- 
ening of  a  hooded  head,  this  difficult  feat  was  accom- 
plished at  that  instant;  and  Alain,  snubbed  and  con- 
trite, hastened  to  apologize  as  best  he  could. 

"You  see,"  he  faltered,  "I  am  a  novice  at  this  game, 
and  awfully  dull  besides.  Won't  you  forgive  me?  I 

42 


SNOW-FIRE 

thought  you  were  joking;  because,  really,  I  know  nobody 
silly  enough  to  love  me,  I  assure  you." 

The  ruffled  rose-hued  draperies  seemed  to  smooth  down 
of  themselves  at  this  humble  pleading.  He  could  almost 
have  believed  that  it  was  a  tiny  ripple  of  laughter,  in- 
stantly suppressed,  which  lent  to  the  snowy  rosebuds  a 
momentary  life  of  their  own,  but  by  now  he  was  so  con- 
fused, that  when  he  thought  of  this  later  he  doubted  it. 

"  You  are  a  great  ninny,"  his  baffling  companion  quick- 
ly retorted.  "  Have  you  eyes  of  the  unseeing  kind  that 
you  have  not  caught  the  truth  in  hers?  Look  again 
when  next  you  are  together,  look  again — novice  that 
you  are  in  more  arts  than  one — and  do  not  let  shy- 
ness, false  pride,  or  prejudice  interfere,  since  love  alone 
is  her  desire.  And  " — there  was  clearly  a  hint  of  bashful 
hesitancy  in  the  voice  now — "let  me  tell  you  this:  If 
you  propose,  she  will  dispose  as  true  women  always  do." 

She  dropped  his  hand,  bent  nimbly  beneath  his  arm, 
and  fled,  leaving  him  speechless  with  amazement  and 
wonder,  thrilled  by  a  wild  hope  and  a  wilder  doubt  that 
actually  made  the  strong  man  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 

Could  any  but  a  woman  emboldened  by  a  deep  love 
and  the  secrecy  of  a  close  disguise  have  dared  as  much, 
he  asked  himself?  And  yet  until  to-night  Sacha,  as  she 
herself  had  told  him  only  yesterday,  had  never  given 
him  the  slenderest  opportunity  to  know  whether  or  no 
she  had  a  heart.  But  then  what  else  could  be  the  mean- 
ing of  the  little  scene  which  had  thrilled  him  so  greatly 
just  now?  Sacha — of  this  he  felt  certain — was  the  last 
person  in  the  world  to  confide  her  soul's  secret  to  an- 
other woman;  also,  he  knew  from  her  that  she  had  no 
intimate  woman  friend.  So  he  remained  there,  sunk  in 
his  thoughts,  debating  absorbedly,  first  on  one  side  of  the 
question  and  then  on  the  other,  and  getting  more  and 

43 


SNOW-FIRE 

more  tangled  as  he  proceeded,  until  Serge,  who  wondered 
what  had  become  of  him,  discovered  him  by  chance,  his 
back  turned  to  the  brilliant  assemblage,  and  himself 
apparently  entirely  withdrawn  into  the  depths  of  his 
domino. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself  very  much," 
he  volunteered,  and  Alain  intuitively  felt  that  he  was 
grinning  under  his  mask.  "Yet  this  little  gathering 
presents  many  features  of  special  interest  to  wide-awake 
people.  No,  I  didn't  hunt  you  up  to  tell  you  that.  Come 
to  the  winter-garden  a  moment — away  from  the  mad- 
ding crowd — I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Still  half  dazed  by  his  recent  experience,  the  hussar 
silently  followed,  and  once  more  the  two  identical  monk- 
ish figures  slowly  breasted  the  cross-currents  of  maskers, 
surging  back  and  forth  from  end  to  end  of  the  long  suite 
of  stately  rooms.  The  winter-garden  did  seem  rather 
deserted  after  this,  and  standing  on  the  very  spot  where 
he  had  been  with  Daria  the  previous  evening,  Serge  began 
to  speak  in  a  quick,  low  voice,  which  to  a  more  observant 
listener  would  have  instantly  betrayed  embarrassment. 

"Until  a  few  moments  ago,"  he  said,  "I  had  entirely 
forgotten  that  my  costume — that  is,  your  costume,  you 
know — is  only  the  half  of  another." 

"The  half  of  another?"  echoed  Alain. 

"  Yes — I  mean  that  all  the  costumes  have  been  selected 
in  pairs."  He  paused  to  disentangle  his  words,  and 
Alain  patiently  waited. 

"You  see,  the  Grand-Duchess  has  planned  a  sort  of 
triumphal  march  before  the  cotillon — the  animals  walk- 
ing two  by  two  after  their  kind;  do  you  understand?" 

"  Vaguely,  I  confess,  unless  you  mean  that  I  .am  now 
the  missing  mate  of  some  unfortunate  Louis  XVI. 
Marquise." 

44 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Precisely;  you  have  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  but  as 
it  happens  that  I  shall  not  be  there  to  adjust — well,  to 
arrange  matters,  do  me  the  favor  not  to  tell  any  one  that 
it  is  my  costume  you  are  wearing.  Promise  me  that?" 

The  simple  demand  was  made  with  such  noticeable 
eagerness  that  Alain  at  any  other  moment  would  have 
been  excusable  for  feeling  surprised ;  as  it  was  he  merely 
said: 

"Certainly,  since  you  don't  wish  it,  although  it  seems 
hardly  fair  for  me  to  borrow  so  gorgeous  a  plumage  with- 
out at  least  giving  credit  to  the  real  bird." 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,"  Serge  answered,  with  a 
laugh.  "  Besides,  it  fits  you  like  a  glove,  physically  and 
otherwise.  Now  let's  go  back,  for  I  must  be  off  in  an 
hour  at  the  latest — and,  by- the- way,  if  I  don't  see  you 
again  to-night,  au  revoir,  old  man,  and  good-luck  to  you." 

"You  won't  be  gone  long,  will  you?"  Alain  asked,  an 
unaccountable  feeling  of  something  like  regret  sweeping 
over  him. 

"No,  only  a  few  weeks  at  the  most,"  Serge  replied, 
falling  back  a  little  to  let  his  friend  enter  the  ball-room 
ahead  of  him;  and  then,  touching  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  he  hurriedly  added: 

"A  propos,  your  Marquise  is  Princess  Sacha  Virianow ! 
Remember  your  promise!"  And  stepping  to  one  side  he 
disappeared  into  the  neighboring  concert-hall. 

Straight  in  front  of  him  the  pale-pink  domino  with  the 
knot  of  white  rosebuds  on  the  left  shoulder  was  gliding 
along  unaccompanied,  and  refusing  all  proffered  escort 
with  a  gay  wave  of  the  great  fan  of  pink  plumes  she  held. 
Quickening  his  pace,  Serge  overtook  her,  and  in  an  almost 
proprietary  way  took  her  arm  and  slipped  it  beneath  his 
own. 

"Eh  bien!  ne  vous  g&nez  pas?"  came  from  beneath  the 

45 


SNOW-FIRE 

tantalizing  laces  closing  like  petals  about  the  guipure- 
shrouded  features,  but  Serge  thought  he  knew  that  voice 
too  well  to  be  awed  into  decorum;  moreover,  the  favorite 
nuance  of  the  domino,  the  white  rosebuds,  and  that  tiny 
curl  of  gleaming  colorless  hair  which  had  already  served 
its  purpose  once  this  night,  made  him  certain  that  he  was 
not  mistaken;  and  with  a  hardly  noticeable  increase  of 
the  tender  pressure  upon  her  slender  wrist,  he  urged  her 
on  toward  the  picture-gallery,  which  even  from  that 
distance  seemed  reasonably  empty,  and  was  certainly 
less  dazzlingly  lighted  than  the  salons  or  the  ball-room. 

"You  must  give  me  a  few  minutes,"  he  whispered. 
"And  you  will,  if  you  know  who  I  am!" 

"A  few  minutes?  What  for?"  she  asked,  shaking  her 
hood  more  closely  still  over  her  face. 

"To  bid  me  good-bye— for  a  while,  that  is,"  he  said, 
gravely.  "  I  cannot  go  into  details,  even  with  you,  but 
I  am  obliged  to  leave  Petersburg,  and  before  I  go,  I  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  having  you  all  to  myself  for 
a  short  moment." 

He  was  no  longer  seeking  to  disguise  his  voice,  and  he 
thought  he  felt  the  hand  pressed  against  his  side  quiver 
a  little. 

"  All  to  yourself  is  asking  too  much,  but  I  don't  mind 
strolling  once  or  twice  up  and  down,  if  that  will  satisfy 
you,  and  you  have  really  something  to  say." 

"  I  have ;  if  only  a  part  of  what  I  will  tell  you  later, 
when  I  come  back!" 

She  was  silent  now,  but  he  fancied  that  she  breathed  a 
little  more  hurriedly. 

"Will  you  think  of  me  when  I  am  gone?"  His  voice 
grew  ever  so  slightly  husky,  as  he  bent  toward  her,  and 
this  time  he  was  certain  that  her  hand  trembled. 

"You  know  that  I  will!"  she  murmured. 

46 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Oh,  my  dear!  my  dear!"  he  began,  and  just  then 
six  or  seven  dominos  pursuing  another,  who  was  madly 
whirling  a  fool's-bauble  above  his  head,  forced  them  into 
the  wide  embrasure  of  a  window. 

"Don't  say  any  more,  please  don't,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
need  all  my  courage  as  it  is — to — to  let  you  go!" 

Dazzled  by  surprise  and  happiness,  Serge  drew  the 
graceful  figure  farther  behind  the  long  curtain  half 
barring  the  embrasure. 

"  You  do  care  for  me  a  little — truly,  then  ?  It  is  not 
merely  a  caprice?"  he  tremulously  questioned. 

"  A  caprice !  Is  that  what  you  have  thought  all  along  ?" 
came  in  reply,  and  there  was  deep  sadness  in  the  veiled 
voice  now. 

Serge  shivered.  He  remembered  last  night — his  sacred 
promise  to  Daria — and  felt  in  honor  bound  to  keep  silence, 
now,  at  least. 

They  were  well  screened  there  and  almost  alone.  He 
glanced  over  his  shoulder,  then  bending,  he  pressed  her 
once  passionately  to  him. 

"Trust  me,"  he  whispered,  his  face  pressed  for  a  second 
close  to  hers.  "Trust  me,  and  don't  forget  me!"  and  of  a 
sudden  she  stood  there  alone  in  the  velvet  shadow,  her 
little  ears  straining  to  catch  below,  there  on  the  quay, 
the  bells  of  the  sleigh  that  had  been  waiting  for  him,  for 
she  knew  the  hour  had  come. 

The  guipure  was  clinging  to  her  eyes  a  little,  and  she 
quickly  passed  her  tiny  handkerchief  beneath  it  before 
going  back  to  her  guests  and  to  the  "joys"  of  the  most 
joyless  evening  she  had  ever  passed. 

As  she  crossed  the  great  square  hall  upon  which  the 
whole  suite  of  reception-rooms  opened,  she  glanced  at  a 
clock,  and  hastened  on,  dismayed  to  find  that  it  was 
already  almost  twelve — the  hour  at  which  it  had  been 

47 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

decided  everybody  should  unmask  and  appear  in  the  guise 
adopted  for  the  occasion.  She  was  to  give  the  signal, 
and  in  another  moment  she  had  pulled  herself  together 
and  had  sought  under  the  heavy  concealment  of  a  curtain 
a  miniature  golden  gong,  which,  on  the  second  when  the 
great  palace  clock  began  to  announce  midnight,  she 
smartly  hit  in  faithful  echo  of  every  stroke.  Instantly 
the  music  ceased  and  complete  silence  held  sway  for  the 
space  of  a  thought;  then  there  was  a  scurry,  as  covey  after 
covey  of  gay  dominos  rushed  off  in  two  preconcerted 
directions,  the  men  to  the  left,  the  women  to  the  right, 
all  laughingly  hastening  to  the  apartments  where  their 
last  transformation  was  to  be  accomplished. 

Daria  herself,  using  the  little  private  staircase  to  her 
boudoir,  tore  off  the  domino  covering  her  sumptuous  cos- 
tume of  Dogaress,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  was 
down  again  to  head  the  dazzling  procession,  hand  in 
hand  with  Stepan,  who,  it  must  be  admitted,  made  a 
most  imposing  and  splendid  Doge,  his  tall  stature  and 
handsome  face  lending  to  the  gold-slashed  velvets  of  his 
robes  a  surprising  verisimilitude.  Indeed,  no  other 
couple  in  that  long  line  of  remarkably  well-favored  people 
created  such  a  sensation  as  did  those  two,  and  many  an 
admiring  gaze  greeted  them,  as  from  both  sides  of  the  hall 
their  guests  advanced  to  pair  off  according  to  costume. 

"And  so  you  are  my  compare,"  Sacha  said  to  Alain, 
coming  forward  to  be  claimed.  She  was  smiling,  but  her 
voice  had  lost,  he  thought,  the  joyous  ring  that  last  night 
had  made  it  so  inexpressibly  seductive,  and  the  soft 
brown  eyes  shone  with  no  gleam  of  amethyst. 

As  he  bowed  low  before  taking  her  hand  in  his,  it  really 
seemed  a  pity  for  her  to  be  sad,  or  even  disappointed,  for 
this  cavalier  whom  chance  had  given  her  was  singularly 
pleasing  to  look  upon.  The  pale  almond-green  and  silver 

48 


SNOW-FIRE 

brocade  of  his  costume,  the  priceless  lace  jabot,  diamond- 
hilted  sword,  and  powdered  hair  suited  him  marvellously, 
and  threw  into  perfect  relief  his  clear-cut  features  and 
graceful  bearing,  making  of  him  a  truly  ideal  Marquis. 
She  herself  was  an  avatar  of  all  that  was  daintiest  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  with  flowered  panniers,  long  slender 
corsage  over  which  a  wealth  of  pearls  cascaded,  and  high 
coiffure  crowned  by  a  knot  of  white  rosebuds  and  a 
twinkling  aigrette  of  pink  rubies  and  diamonds. 

Once — twice — she  scanned  the  ranks  of  waiting  mas- 
queraders,  searching  for  that  other  tall  soldierly  figure 
which  she  thought  must  be  there,  and  just  as  the  band- 
master brought  down  his  baton,  and  the  lilting  strains  of 
the  Grande  Polonaise  set  every  one  going,  she  said  in  a 
tone  quite  forcedly  indifferent: 

"Isn't  it  strange  that  Count  Urlansky  should  not  be 
here  ?  He  had  told  me  last  night  that  he  held  a  surprise 
in  reserve  for  me." 

"He  has  been  suddenly  called  away  to  Podolia,"  Alain 
explained,  in  perfect  good  faith.  "  His  peasants  are 
giving  trouble." 

Sacha  raised  her  dark  eyebrows  and  her  face  suddenly 
hardened. 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  very  polite,  not  to  have  left  cards, 
at  least,"  she  said,  with  a  new  effort  at  carelessness, 
"but  fortunately  we  can  amuse  ourselves  excellently 
without  his  kind  help,  can't  we?" 

Alain  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "Of  course  we  can; 
but  Serge  is  always  the  life  of  every  party,  and  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  miss  him." 

The  polonaise  was  drawing  toward  its  close — already 
the  tempo  was  noticeably  slower — and  Sacha  turned 
quickly  to  her  partner. 

"You  are  a  good  friend,  Monsieur  de  Coetmen,"  she 

49 


SNOW-FIRE 

said,  softly.  "  Now  in  a  similar  case  a  woman  could 
never  feel  as  you  do." 

"Why  not?"  he  questioned,  smiling. 

"Because  women  are  always  jealous  of  one  another." 

Alain  laughed,  thinking  only  of  Daria's  affection  for 
Serge.  "I  jealous  of  Serge!"  he  exclaimed.  "Never  in 
the  world.  How  could  I  be?" 

"Why  should  he,  indeed?"  she  thought,  wrathfully. 
"  He  is  twice  as  good-looking  as  Serge,  and  much  more 
winning."  She  bit  her  lips  sharply,  and  was  grateful  for 
the  sweeping  curtsy  of  the  finale,  since  it  gave  her  a 
chance  to  force  back  the  tears  that  she  felt  rising  to  her 
eyes.  "  I  don't  care! — I  don't  care!"  she  repeated  to  her- 
self. And  devoting  herself  desperately  to  the  dances 
that  followed,  she  was  able  to  summon  her  gayest  smile 
as  the  cotillon  began. 

It  was  a  short  one,  led  by  the  mistress  of  the  house 
and  an  Imperial  visitor  from  Austria,  and  was  quickly 
followed  by  the  supper,  served  at  little  tables,  each  dec- 
orated with  different  flowers.  Daria's  was  a  mass  of 
Neapolitan  violets,  and  Sacha  found  that  the  one  where 
she  was  asked  to  take  her  place  was  smothered  in  garlands 
of  white  rosebuds. 

"Really,"  she  commented,  "  Daria-Mikaelovna  thinks 
of  everything,  and  never  forgets  anybody,"  and  she  bent 
over  the  dainty  blossoms. 

"They  are  your  symbol,  are  they  not?"  Alain  asked. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so;  anyhow,  I  am  insanely  fond  of 
them,"  she  admitted,  breaking  off  a  fragrant  bud.  "  Will 
you  wear  this  one?"  she  added,  flushing  very  prettily  and 
handing  it  to  him  just  as  Countess  Dermetchieff,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  a  still  youthful  General,  blazing  with  crosses 
and  decorations  over  his  Henry  IV.  costume,  appeared  on 
the  scene,  and  requested  permission  to  join  the  young  people. 

5° 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  presence  of  the  Dowager  Countess  was  always  a 
boon,  for  she  was  a  celebrated  wit,  and,  besides,  lacked 
the  drawback  of  most  wits — an  unkind  tongue;  so  Sacha 
greeted  her  effusively,  though  she  forebore  to  display  the 
same  enthusiasm  toward  the  General,  whom  she  greatly 
disliked,  ever  since  he  had  begun  to  pay  her  assiduous 
court  a  couple  of  months  before. 

Alain,  staring  unseeingly  at  the  tall  Venetian  glasses 
which  turned  the  Sauterne  and  Burgundy  they  held  into 
molten  gold  and  liquid  ruby,  was  beginning  to  feel  his 
head  swim  without  the  aid  of  those  choice  vintages. 
And  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Did  not  the  gift  of  the 
rosebud,  now  resting  on  the  lace  of  his  jabot,  tacitly 
confirm  the  meaning  of  the  words  spoken  earlier  by  the 
pink  domino  ?  Sacha  was  not  a  flirt,  nor  even  remotely  a 
coquette,  and  what  she  had  just  done  was  really  startling, 
coming  from  her.  Keenly  realizing  this,  he  let  his  thoughts 
dwell  with  bewildering  happiness  on  all  that  had  occurred 
during  the  past  twenty-four  hours. 

Meanwhile  the  talk  was  growing  animated  around  the 
little  table.  Madame  Dermetchieff — splendid,  as  Madame 
de  Maintenon — was  making  fun  of  herself  with  inimitable 
gayety.  "How  absurd  it  is,"  she  was  saying,  "for  an 
antiquity  like  me  to  don  a  fancy-dress  nobody  knows 
better  than  I  do.  My  nephew  Urlansky  is  responsible  for 
it  all,  however,  and  I  only  regret  that  he  is  not  here  to 
witness  the  results  of  his  betise!" 

"But  you  look  magnificent,"  Sacha  protested. 

The  Countess  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "At  my  time 
of  life  a  sensible  woman  should  be  safely  in  bed  at  this 
hour,  reading  a  comfortable  book  of  memoirs,  and  sipping 
linden-blossom  tea.  Instead  of  which,  evening  after 
evening  finds  me  gadding — oh,  yes,  simply  gadding — in 
stifling  drawing-rooms,  over-perfumed  and  over-illuminat- 
5  Si 


SNOW-FIRE 

ed;  but  Daria-Mikaelovna  and  Serge  between  them  per- 
suaded me.  At  first  I  decided  to  content  myself  with 
a  fancy-head;  but  can  you  imagine  me  appearing  with 
Madame  Angot's  cap  or  General  Bourn's  bicorne?  Which 
only  goes  to  show  the  cleverness  of  the  Devil;  for  once 
one's  mind  is  made  up  to  disguise  one's  self,  the  choice 
of  a  costume  becomes  all-absorbing  —  paint,  powder, 
patches,  high  heels,  etc.,  are  brought  into  play — and  what 
does  one  gain  by  it?  I,  for  instance,  nothing  more  flat- 
tering than  the  rapture  of  my  maid,  who  warmly  assured 
me  that  I  looked  as  perfect  as  the  wax  figure  of  a  queen!" 

Even  the  pompous  General-officer  condescended  to 
laugh.  "Did  Urlansky  choose  your  costume?"  he  asked. 
"In  that  case  he  is  a  young  man  of  remarkable  taste." 

"He  is  that,"  she  replied,  "in  every  respect.  I  am 
inordinately  proud  of  my  nephew  Urlansky." 

"She  is  not  the  only  one,"  the  General  whispered  to 
Sacha,  under  cover  of  the  Gardes-de-la-Reine ,  which  the 
concealed  orchestra  had  just  struck  up. 

"Ah!"  Sacha  replied,  her  eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the 
jellied  ortolan  upon  her  plate. 

"  Yes ;  and  that  may  also  have  something  to  do  with  this 
sudden  departure  of  his." 

"Ah!"  she  murmured  again,  delicately  dismembering 
the  dainty  morsel,  but  leaving  it  un tasted. 

"Will  you  grant  me  the  honor  of  dancing  the  after- 
supper  dance  with  you?"  the  gallant  soldier  ventured. 
"I  might  tell  you  some  amusing  details  of  that  subject." 

"Thank  you,  very  much,"  Sacha  said,  suddenly  re- 
assuming  her  ordinary  clear  voice,  "  I  am  engaged  for  the 
last  dance  to  Monsieur  de  Coetmen." 

The  General  bowed  stiffly,  and  the  astonished  Alain 
raised  delighted  eyes  to  find  her  glancing  almost  plead- 
ingly at  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  not  dared  to 

52 


SNOW-FIRE 

ask  for  that  waltz,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  he  must 
really  be  dreaming. 

"And  so,"  the  vexed  General  re-began,  "Urlansky  has 
been  called  away  by  a  disturbance  among  his  peasantry?" 

"So  it  appears,"  answered  Madame  Dermetchieff. 
"  He  sent  me  a  little  note  this  afternoon  acquainting  me 
with  the  fact." 

"You  had  not  previously  heard  of  any  trouble  on  his 
estates,  Prascovia-Pavlovna  ? ' ' 

"No,  Mikael-Alexandrovich,  I  had  not." 

"And  yet  your  estates  touch  his,  do  they  not?"  he 
persisted. 

Madame  Dermetchieff  turned  in  her  chair  and  looked 
straight  at  him.  "  You  should  have  seized  this  occasion 
to  costume  yourself  en  point  d 'interrogation,"  she  remark- 
ed. "  It  would  have  suited  you  admirably,  I  assure  you." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,"  he  hastened  to  apologize.  "  I  had  no 
idea  I  was  treading  on  unwelcome  ground." 

"  No  possibility  of  your  ever  doing  that,"  she  responded, 
with  her  most  gracious  smile,  "  as  long  as  you  remain  on 
your  own — which  is  surely  vast  enough  to  satisfy  the 
wildest  ambitions." 

Alain  and  Sacha  repressed  a  laugh,  for  this  was  a  barbed 
arrow.  The  General,  something  of  a  parvenu,  was  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  Russia,  but  was  not  very  kindly  re- 
ceived in  the  inner  circles  of  Court  society.  His  rank  in 
the  army  alone  gave  him  the  entree,  and  Grand-Duchess 
Stepan,  for  instance,  never  invited  him  to  intimate  re- 
ceptions. Indeed,  to-night  he  had  practically  forced  him- 
self upon  her  in  much  the  same  way  as  he  had  annexed 
Countess  Dermetchieff,  on  whom  he  had  literally  pounced 
as  she  was  rising  from  her  seat  in  the  ball-room. 

"Very  good,  my  dear  lady,"  he  thought  to  himself; 
"  I'll  get  even  with  you  for  this  before  long,  rest  assured!" 

53 


SNOW-FIRE 

And  he  forthwith  devoted  himself  to  his  champagne  in 
silence,  to  wash  down  the  taste  of  the  snub. 

In  a  moment  more  everybody  was  rising  from  the  tables, 
and  Sacha,  eager  to  avoid  being  escorted  from  the  room 
by  her  bete  noire,  drew  closer  to  Alain. 

" Prascovia-Pavlovna  is  right,"  she  said,  quickly,  "it 
is  too  warm  here;  one  feels  quite  dizzy." 

"  Shall  we  go  on,  then?"  he  asked,  "  or  shall  we  wait  for 
the  Countess?" 

"No!  No!  Let  us  go.  Here  comes  the  Grand-Duke, 
and  I  don't  like  him." 

Alain  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and  dexterously  man- 
oeuvring so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  notice  the  glittering 
Doge,  now  only  a  few  yards  away,  bore  off  his  prize  under 
the  very  nose  of  the  General  just  as  that  distinguished 
disciple  of  Mars  was  crooking  his  arm  in  her  direction. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Would  I  could  wall  you  round  with  living  stone, 

Not  for  Distrust — his  foul  and  clinging  blight — 
But  Fear:    Love's  shadow,  at  its  blackest  thrown 

When  the  rose  laugheth  and  the  skies  are  bright; 
That  lengthens  with  the  sun,  and  of  the  chill 

Night  of  your  absence  taketh  noisome  lease, 
Or,  smiling,  mocketh  by  your  slumber  still: 
"Watch;  is  this  Sleep,  or  doth  the  breathing  cease ?"- 
And  ill  betide  the  day  his  wings  enfold 

Like  some  black  glamour  from  the  Deep  of  Sin, 
Till  the  clear  fire  of  heaven  falleth  cold, 

And  naught  hath  substance  but  the  pain  within. 
But  Peace  may  come,  when  in  the  twilight  gray, 
Lost  in  your  eyes,  the  Shadow  slips  away. 

M.  M. 

SNOW,  like  an  impenetrable  curtain,  was  gliding,  slow 
and  continuous,  against  the  double- windows  of  Daria's 
favorite  room — half  library,  half  studio — where  she  spent 
every  minute  of  her  spare  time,  either  at  the  grand- 
piano  which  occupied  a  whole  angle,  or,  if  not  curled  up 
beside  the  fire  reading,  seated  at  her  aquarelle- table  in  its 
flower-filled  embrasure. 

To-day,  however,  enervated  perhaps  by  the  opaque 
whiteness  effacing  everything  in  its  heavily  moving  folds, 
and  obscuring  the  whole  world,  she  was  idle  for  once; 
wandering  up  and  down  the  long  apartment,  rearranging 
a  bibelot,  straightening  a  drapery,  or  bending  listlessly 
over  the  bowls  of  daffodils  and  lilies-of-the-valley,  which 
did  their  best  to  remind  her  that  winter  did  not  rule 

55 


SNOW-FIRE 

everywhere,  and  that  even  in  December  one  might  find 
their  like  growing  free  and  fragrant  under  more  fortunate 
skies. 

"I  had  better  go  away  too  for  a  while,"  she  said,  half- 
aloud,  breaking  off  a  few  of  the  blossoms  and  fastening 
them  in  the  lace  jabot  of  her  white  velvet  tea-gown. 
"I'm  becoming  peevish  and  useless  here,"  she  sighed 
impatiently,  and  walked  to  the  nearest  embrasure,  where 
great  garlands  of  ivy,  rising  from  the  bronze  window- 
box,  framed  the  tourmente  with  their  lustrous  leaves  after 
the  fashion  of  a  yet  unwritten  Christmas-card. 

Only  a  little  while  ago  she  had  enjoyed  the  snow  and 
the  many  pleasures  it  brings  to  the  North,  but  somehow 
its  drawbacks  alone  seemed  to  occur  to  her  just  now,  and 
she  sighed  again  a  little  more  deeply. 

"May  I  come  in?" 

She  had  not  heard  the  door  open,  and  turned  now  with 
a  smile  of  pleasure  toward  her  favorite  son  waiting  on 
the  threshold  for  her  to  welcome  him  in. 

"Oh,  Volodia,  I  am  glad  you  came!"  she  exclaimed, 
going  to  meet  him,  and  throwing  one  arm  tenderly  about 
his  neck.  "It  is  so  dull  here." 

The  lad  glanced  at  her  in  surprise,  then  bending  his 
tall  form,  scanned  her  face  more  closely. 

"Dull,  Doushka?"1  he  asked.  "You  dull?  Why, 
why,  what's  the  matter?  You  are  not  looking  as  well  as 
usual — nor  as  bright,  either,"  he  added,  his  eyes,  that 
were  so  much  like  hers  in  shape  and  color,  becoming 
suddenly  clouded.  "  Who's  been  bothering  my  dear 
one?" 

"Nobody,"  she  said,  laughing  and  letting  him  lead  her 
to  a  huge  lounging  chair  before  the  blazing  fire,  where 

1  My  little  soul. 
56 


SNOW-FIRE 

he  nestled  down  beside  her.  "  Who  would  be  able  to  do 
that?" 

"I  don't  know;  or  else  I'd  know  one  other  thing  at 
least,  and  that  would  be  how  to  prevent  it,"  he  returned, 
still  between  play  and  earnest — a  little  more  in  earnest 
than  in  play  perhaps.  She  could  not  see  his  face,  as  her 
head  was  resting  against  his  shoulder,  and  she  went  on 
gazing  into  the  leaping  flames. 

"Why  don't  you  go  for  a  few  weeks  to  Algeria,  or  at 
least  to  the  south  of  France?"  he  continued,  interposing 
his  left  hand  between  her  cheek  and  the  stiff  fringes  of  his 
epaulette.  "  Here,  don't  move;  I  don't  want  your  pretty 
skin  to  be  all  scratched  up!" 

"  But  your  hand  will  go  to  sleep." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it;  my  hand  is  too  well  behaved  for  that. 
Keep  still,  and  answer  my  question." 

"  I  fancied  that  you  would  not  like  to  spare  me,"  she 
said,  tentatively. 

"Not  if  I  stayed  here,"  he  answered,  promptly.  "I'm 
selfish,  I  am!  But  don't  you  remember  that  I  must  ac- 
company my  esteemed  uncle  on  his  tour  of  inspection?" 

"Oh  dear  me,  that's  true — I  had  forgotten  all  about 
it!"  she  cried,  sitting  up.  "The  others  can  do  without  me 
very  well;  it  was  only  my  baby  that  I  was  thinking  of." 

Volodia  drew  her  down  again  to  her  resting  place  on  his 
shoulder,  and  began  to  punctuate  his  words  by  little 
kisses  on  her  hair. 

"  Your  baby  is  always  forced  to  be  away  from  you — I 
wish  it  were  otherwise,  Doushka — but  a  soldier  is  a 
soldier,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  You'll  have  to  go  and 
bask  in  the  sunshine  while  I  stand  Pour  le  Tsar,  pourDieu, 
et  pour  la  Patrie  '  You  remember  how  that  French  actor- 
chap  made  us  laugh  with  that  in  Paris  last  year  ?  It  was 
great  in  its  way,  and  he  took  himself  mighty  seriously." 

57 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Actors  mostly  do,  on  and  off  the  stage;  but  I  think  he 
put  Divinity  before  the  Tsar." 

"That's  quite  possible;  but  tell  me,  were  you  thinking 
of  dear  General  Debeline,  when  you  said  that  about 
actors  ?  He  is  playing  Othello  to  the  life  lately — haven't 
you  noticed  it?" 

Daria  rose  suddenly  and  stood  with  one  hand  on  the 
edge  of  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  on  the  still  re- 
clining Volodia. 

"  He's  a  horrible  nuisance,"  she  said,  shortly,  and  with 
what  seemed  quite  disproportionate  irritation. 

"  Poor  man !  There's  one  who  takes  himself  seriously, 
sure  enough.  But  oh!  please  don't  move,  you  make 
such  a  tableau !  You  look  exactly  like  a  snowball  touched 
by  the  Alpengluhe  in  your  white  velvet  with  the  fire-light 
on  it.  My  artistic  eye  is  gratified  no  end." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  moved  on  to  her  paint- 
ing-table, where  a  spirited  study  of  a  great  basket  of 
dark  and  light  violets  was  in  progress. 

"Exquisite,"  Volodia,  who  had  followed  her,  exclaimed, 
bending  over  them.  "Where's  the  model?" 

"  Here,"  she  replied,  without  turning  her  head,  and 
pointing  to  the  window-seat,  where  the  delicate  blos- 
soms were  being  kept  fresh  beneath  a  dampened  gauze 
scarf. 

Volodia  lifted  one  corner  and  peeped  at  the  flowers. 
"  Why  don't  you  finish  it  before  they  fade  ?"  he  demanded. 

"In  this  light?  This  morning  there  was  at  least  an 
imitation  sun-ray  or  two,  but  now — "  And  she  brusquely 
covered  the  violets  again — Serge's  violets,  as  she  thought, 
in  reality  Yegor's! 

"Why  are  you  annoyed  by  Debeline's  antics?"  asked 
her  son,  who  was  already  thinking  of  something  else,  as 
he  strolled  over  to  the  prepared  tea-table,  and  touched 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  match  to  the  wick  of  the  tall  silver  urn.  "  I  think  him 
immensely  amusing." 

"Well,  then,  I  don't— not  the  least  little  bit.  He  is 
grotesque;  no  more,  no  less,  and  dangerous  also." 

Volodia  laughed.  "  Get  rid  of  him  then.  Have  him 
sent  to  the  Caucasus.  My  august  cousin  will  do  it  if  you 
say  so." 

Daria  started.  "Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked,  in 
so  altered  a  manner  that  the  lad  came  back  to  her  in 
astonishment. 

"I  was  only  joking,"  he  exclaimed,  utterly  unable  to 
imagine  why  this  particular  joke  met  with  such  obvious 
ill-success.  "  Princess  Sacha,  at  any  rate,  would  be  glad 
if  he  were  out  of  the  way,"  he  continued,  unconsciously 
adding  one  faux  pas  to  another. 

"What  has  she  to  do  with  it;  is  she  mixed  up  in 
everything?"  came  from  Daria,  in  the  same  exasperated 
tone. 

"  Why,  Doushka!  I  see  I  was  right  when  I  advised  you 
just  now  to  go  South,  and  rest,  all  by  your  lovely  self,  or 
perhaps  with  a  few  choice  friends.  You  are  out  of  sorts, 
that's  what  you  are,  else  why  should  my  poor  little 
pleasantries  be  so  frowned  upon  ?  If  you  had  been  quite 
yourself  you  could  not  have  helped  noticing  the  amorous 
graces  of  Debeline,  and  how  Princess  Sacha  dislikes  them. 
It's  well  worth  observing." 

"Debeline  is  an  ass,  and  the  girl  a  little  fool!"  Daria 
commented,  wrenching  open  the  tea-pot  and  throwing  in 
a  shellful  of  her  precious  yellow  Caravan. 

"Whew-w-w!  But  we  are  ill-tempered  to-day.  Poor 
little  Sacha !  You  are  severe ;  she  is  not  my  ideal  type, 
to  be  sure,  but  still  she  is  wonderfully  agreeable  to  look 
at,  and  I  hear  that  Alain  de  Coetmen  holds  the  rope  just 
now — which  ought  to  put  Debeline  out  of  the  running 

59 


SNOW-FIRE 

altogether.  That  Grodno  Breton  is  made  to  take  a 
woman's  eye." 

"Who  told  you  he  was  'holding  the  rope,'  as  you  so 
gracefully  put  it?" 

"Everybody,  more  or  less.  Personally,  I've  not  had 
much  chance  to  notice." 

"  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  help  him  along  a 
little,"  said  Daria,  suddenly.  "He  is  a  nice  modest  boy 
who  will  not  know  how  to  manage  the  affair  alone." 

Volodia  burst  out  laughing.  "A  Grand-ducal  matri- 
monial agency  then,"  he  gleefully  pronounced,  "and  with 
you,  who  always  inveigh  against  marriage,  at  its  head! 
I'm  surprised." 

"Oh,  don't  try  to  be  funny,"  Daria  replied,  more 
lightly.  "  There's  a  lot  of  good  sense  in  what  I  said.  It 
would  be  exasperating  to  see  her  throw  herself  away  on 
that  clown  of  a  Debeline." 

"  Never!     She  wouldn't  take  him  as  a  gift." 

"One  never  knows  what  a  woman  will  do.  Un- 
fortunately, Debeline  is  not  bad-looking,  and  he  is  fan- 
tastically rich." 

"Which  counts  for  nothing  with  a  girl  as  rich  as  she. 
Moreover,  I  can't  understand  why  you  are  suddenly  so 
eager  to  marry  off  De  Coetmen — I  didn't  know  that  you 
were  more  than  casually  acquainted  with  him." 

"  I  used  to  know  his  mother,  though — a  delicious  woman. 
Call  it  a  new  caprice  and  have  done,"  she  answered, 
handing  him  a  cup  of  tea  and  pushing  the  cake-basket 
toward  him;  and  while  he  was  indulging  a  marvellous 
appetite  for  dainty  morsels,  her  quick  mind  reviewed  the 
unfortunate  complications  which  this  courtship  of  Sacha 
by  Debeline  might  bring  about.  Of  course,  Sacha  would 
neither  encourage  nor  accept  him,  but  she  might  be 
wearied  into  getting  him  be  with  her  more  than  was  ad- 

60 


SNOW-FIRE 

visable,  for  on  occasion  he  could  be  amusing.  There 
lurked  the  danger.  Debeline,  though  a  coxcomb,  was  far 
from  stupid;  also — since  upon  the  possession  of  under- 
ground information  his  footing  depended  to  a  great 
extent — he  was  a  sort  of  walking  chronique-scandaleuse, 
devoid  of  all  scruple,  superlatively  intriguing,  and  capable 
of  anything  to  advance  his  own  interests. 

Once  he  ferreted  out  so  much  as  one  hint  of  the  hope 
that  had  dawned  in  her  mind — and  it  was  not  impossible 
that  he  should  do  so — he  would  in  any  case  attempt  to 
make  the  marriage  with  De  Coetmen  impossible,  hoping 
in  the  end  to  reap  where  Daria  had  sown.  So  the  first 
thing  for  the  good  of  all  concerned  was  to  get  Sacha  away 
from  his  immediate  influence. 

"Tell  me,  Volodia,  couldn't  you  arrange  a  troika  party 
to  go  and  hear  the  Tzigans — to-morrow,  let  us  say — if 
the  snow  condescends  to  stop  for  a  while?"  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

Volodia  precipitately  swallowed  two  more  cakes.  "  Of 
course  I  can;  nothing  easier  I"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "  It 
will  do  you  good,  I'm  certain.  To  mope  at  home  is  the 
worst  thing  you  could  do!" 

"  I'm  doing  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  laughingly  rejoined. 
"But  I  like  Tzigan  music,  so  let's  make  our  list  of  in- 
vitations at  once." 

"What  enthusiasm!  First  and  foremost,  I'll  write 
down  the  happy  pair  that  is  to  be,"  he  declared,  his  eyes 
twinkling  above  the  edge  of  the  blotting-pad  he  had 
hastily  snatched  from  a  table. 

"  Stop !"  Daria  commanded.  "  If  you  are  going  to  give 
away  the  secret  of  our  generous  machinations  by  pranks 
and  untimely  jokes,  the  fat's  in  the  fire." 

"I  give  away  the  secret  of  our — !  You  are  not 
serious;  I  can  be  silent  as  the  silent  tomb  when  occasion 

61 


SNOW-FIRE 

requires,  but  privately  I  may  enter  into  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  mayn't  I?" 

"  No  wonder  I  still  call  you  my  baby!"  she  said,  smiling 
at  him  across  the  tray,  her  cup  held  half-way  to  her  lips. 
"Privately  you  can  be  as  amused  as  you  please — not 
otherwise,  though." 

"My  word  of  honor  is  yours,"  he  gayly  promised,  re- 
suming the  writing  of  their  programme;  and  so  they 
laughed  and  chatted  together,  while  outside  the  darkness 
of  a  pitiless  night  swiftly  descended  upon  the  snow- 
shrouded  city. 

Meanwhile,  only  a  few  streets  away,  Sacha,  little  guess- 
ing that  she  was  the  object  of  these  benevolent  intentions, 
sat  alone  in  her  boudoir,  utterly  dispirited  and  dishearten- 
ed. Serge's  inexplicable  departure,  on  the  very  eve  of  what 
she  had  thought  would  be  a  formal  declaration,  had  hurt 
her  more  than  she  would  have  been  able  to  express.  She 
positively  writhed  beneath  the  humiliation  of  it  all,  and 
day  and  night  vainly  sought  to  puzzle  out  his  reasons  for 
acting  as  he  had.  Thanks  to  her  long  absence  from  St. 
Petersburg  she  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  bonds  existing 
between  him  and  the  Grand-Duchess,  and  now  it  was 
highly  probable,  since  a  rumor  was  abroad  to  the  effect 
that  these  bonds  were  broken,  that  she  would  never  hear 
about  them  at  all,  save  perhaps  as  a  piece  of  negligible 
gossip  about  a  past-and-gone  affair,  to  which  no  impor- 
tance could  possibly  be  attached.  Even  this  was  doubtful, 
for  one  forgets  quickly  in  the  lively  capital  beside  the 
Neva,  and  the  sudden  interest  displayed  by  Daria  in 
Alain  de  Coetmen  had  already  set  agile  tongues  wagging 
in  that  direction,  short  as  the  time  had  been.  Probably 
Debeline's  pointed  nose  was  alone  capable  of  picking  up 
the  scent  and  setting  its  owner  on  the  right  track,  but 
Debeline  and  his  sensitive  nose  were  still  held  at  a  safe 

62 


SNOW-FIRE 

distance,  and  Sacha,  who  would  have  been  in  no  wise 
comforted  by  a  knowledge  of  the  true  state  of  affairs,  was 
worrying  herself  almost  sick. 

Her  widowed  mother,  who  had  undertaken  to  chaperon 
her  during  this  first  winter  of  gayety,  fulfilled  her  task 
mostly  by  lying  on  a  divan,  with  a  pile  of  yellow-backed 
novels  of  exceeding  trashiness  to  keep  her  from  drowsing 
the  twenty-four  hours  round.  An  imaginary  and  peevish 
invalid,  Countess  Nazoumoff  was  besides  the  most  selfish 
and  empty-headed  ex-beauty  that  could  be  found  in  the 
Tsar's  dominions.  She  had  fretted  her  lord  into  an  early 
grave  by  her  exacting  and  perpetual  demands  upon  his 
time,  his  purse,  and  his  patience — all  of  which  had  been 
abundant  but  not  sufficiently  inexhaustible  to  withstand 
so  remorseless  a  siege;  and  now  she  had  coolly  settled 
herself  down  upon  Sacha,  hoping  to  make  her  in  time  as 
unresisting  a  victim  as  he  had  been. 

"I  have  my  neuralgia"  was  a  sentence  everybody  at 
the  Virianow  Palace  dreaded  like  the  plague.  The  late 
master  of  that  splendid  residence  alone  had  known  how 
to  deal  with  the  situation,  by  simply  closing  its  doors 
to  mother-in-law  rule ;  but,  alas,  Platon  Virianow  was  no 
longer  there  to  guard  the  entrance — he,  too,  was  laid  at 
rest,  and  poor  timid  Sacha  was  delivered,  bound  hand  and 
foot,  to  the  insidious  enemy. 

"I  have  my  neuralgia!"  That  was  the  weary  kit 
motif  of  the  whole  establishment,  transforming  it  with 
bewildering  promptness  from  a  luxurious  and  com- 
fortable dwelling  into  a  veritable  field-hospital,  littered 
with  pillows,  couches,  and  cushions,  and  redolent  of 
eau-sedative  and  ether.  Oh,  those  ether-fumes,  how  they 
sickened  Sacha !  but  having  once  ventured  to  remonstrate 
with  her  mother  on  the  subject,  so  terrible  a  fit  of  hys- 
terics had  resulted  that  she  would  have  suffered  ten  times 

63 


SNOW-FIRE 

greater  discomfort  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  dread 
ordeal. 

To-day  was  apparently  an  off  one  with  Madame 
Nazoumoff's  complaint,  for  presently  she  entered  her 
daughter's  boudoir,  dragging  behind  her  the  train  of 
an  opulent  but  slightly  crumpled  peignoir,  while  her 
coquettish  little  cap  of  lace  and  yellow  velvet  pansies  had 
been  cocked  on  one  side  during  a  recent  nap,  and  gave 
her  a  rather  laughably  rakish  appearance. 

"Where  have  you  been  hiding  all  the  afternoon?"  she 
demanded,  in  her  high-pitched,  querulous  voice,  letting 
herself  glide  into  the  most  agreeable  chair  in  the  room, 
and  applying  to  her  nostrils  the  gold  smelling-bottle  she 
invariably  carried.  "And  why,  if  I  may  ask,  are  you 
sitting  here  in  the  dark? — it  is  dismal,  positively  dismal!" 

Sacha,  repressing  a  sigh,  rose  from  her  favorite  dream- 
ing-place  in  the  ingle-nook,  and  rang  the  bell  for  tea  and 
lamps  to  be  brought  in. 

"I  like  half-lights,"  she  ventured  to  explain,  "and  I 
did  not  know  that  you  were  coming  to  take  your  tea 
here." 

"  If  my  presence  is  burdensome,  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
so  quite  frankly,"  Madame  Nazoumoff  interrupted.  "I 
will  not  be  offended ;  being  well  used  to  find  myself  in  the 
way  of  everybody,  including  my  own  child." 

"My  dear  mother,  how  can  you  say  such  things?" 
Sacha  protested,  bending  down  to  push  a  hassock  under 
the  maternal  feet.  The  Countess  had  extremely  pretty 
feet,  and  loved  to  display  them. 

"When  your  poor  father  was  alive,"  the  latter  re- 
commenced, "  I  had  a  right  to  consideration  and  respect 
which  I  have  apparently  lost  since  his  untimely  death." 
Here  she  produced  a  handkerchief  made  up  mainly  of 
Valenciennes  flounces  and  brought  it  half-way  to  her  eyes, 


SNOW-FIRE 

"To  be  widowed  is  a  horrible  misfortune,  excepting,  of 
course,  when,  as  in  your  case,  great  wealth  and  unbridled 
liberty  become  one's  portion." 

"Unbridled  liberty"  seemed  to  Sacha  a  trifle  hard  to 
swallow  under  existing  circumstances,  but  she  knew  the 
uselessness  of  argument,  and  as  a  footman  had  just  placed 
the  five-o'clock  table  at  her  elbow,  she  hastened  to  prepare 
tea. 

"  In  your  case  remarriage  would  be  nothing  short  of  a 
crime — you  understand,  a  positive  crime,"  the  exasperat- 
ing voice  went  on,  producing  upon  the  solitary  listener 
something  akin  to  the  effect  of  a  tiny  saw  biting  through 
steel.  "  And  as  it  appears  that  already  suitors  are  crowd- 
ing around  your  millions,  I  thought  it  might  be  wise  to 
warn  you  that  I  for  one  will  not  sanction,  will  not  tolerate, 
the  idea  of  a  second  union  for  you." 

Sacha's  hands  were  trembling  so  nervously  now  that 
her  rings  shot  multi-colored  little  flames  as  she  busied 
herself  with  the  cups  and  saucers,  but  she  succeeded  in 
steadying  her  voice  enough  to  escape  an  immediate 
thunderbolt. 

"I  have  not  the  faintest  intention  of  marrying  again," 
she  said,  firmly. 

" Tut,  tut,  my  dear;  that's  what  young  widows  generally 
say,  but  it  means  nothing.  As  a  rule  all  good  resolutions 
hold  only  so  long  as  temptation  does  not  pass  that 
way." 

No  doubt  the  Countess  spoke  from  personal  experience, 
for  her  past  had  been  as  stormy  as  her  beauty  had  been 
remarkable,  if  current  gossip  was  to  be  believed.  Still, 
as  Sacha  naturally  did  not  know  this,  she  at  last  let  her- 
self be  drawn  into  the  beginning  of  an  argument. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  has  put  such  a  notion  into 
your  head,  mamma,"  she  exclaimed,  quite  impatiently 

65 


SNOW-FIRE 

for  her.  "  Never  has  the  thought  been  further  from  my 
mind." 

Madame  Nazoumoff  gave  a  little  laugh,  which,  if  any- 
thing, was  more  trying  than  her  ordinary  tone,  and  turned 
her  magnificent  dark  eyes  upon  the  accused. 

"A  pretty  woman,"  she  pronounced,  "is  always  an 
easily  attackable  citadel.  You  are  a  very  pretty  woman, 
Sacha;  not  as  pretty  as  I  was  at  your  age" — and  this, 
curiously  enough,  was  true — "but  still  very  lovely,  es- 
pecially when  you  grow  animated.  Otherwise  you  are 
apt  to  be  a  little — just  a  little — too  colorless,  in  spite  of 
what,  when  you  were  a  child,  your  poor  dear  father  used 
to  call  your  ' heart's-ease  eyes.'" 

She  sipped  the  rest  of  her  tea,  held  out  her  cup  to  be 
replenished,  and  after  waiting  a  second  or  two  to  see  if 
Sacha  could  not  be  teased  into  actual  belligerence,  began 
again. 

"General  Debeline,  who,  although  not  'born,'  is  still  a 
very  pleasant  cavalier,  waited  upon  me  yesterday  even- 
ing while  you  were  at  the  Dermetchieff  dance;  and  from 
him  I  drew  quite  a  few  interesting  side-lights  upon  your 
flirtations." 

"Mamma!"  Sacha  cried,  indignantly.  "How  can  you 
believe  that  scandal-monger  Debeline?  Really  it  is 
enough  to  make  one  lose  all  patience!" 

"Oh,  lose  it  then,  by  all  means!  It  would  amuse  me 
vastly.  If  anything  could  make  you  absolutely  attrac- 
tive, my  dear,  it  would  be  to  lose  your  surface  coldness — 
for  a  purely  surface  coldness  it  is." 

In  the  mellow  rays  of  the  pink-shaded  lamps  Madame 
Nazoumoff  herself  made  an  exceedingly  pleasing  picture, 
with  her  graceful  figure,  delicate  hands  and  feet,  and  the 
masses  of  bronze  hair,  where  but  few  strands  of  silver 
showed  as  yet,  piled  above  the  perfect  oval  of  a  face  which 

66 


SNOW-FIRE 

fancied  ailments  and  imaginary  griefs  had  left  singularly 
smooth  and  untroubled.  Indeed,  her  phenomenal  self- 
ishness acted  as  the  best  of  youth-preservers,  and  had  she 
cared  to  cast  off  the  role  of  chronic  invalid,  which  served 
to  procure  her  so  comfortable  an  immunity  from  annoy- 
ance or  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  duty,  she  could  easily 
have  passed  for  a  beauty  still. 

"  Moreover,"  she  went  on,  "  General  Debeline  is  no 
scandal-monger.  As  it  happens,  he  spoke  of  you  in  al- 
most fatherly  fashion,  regretting  only  that  you  should 
permit  callow  boys  to  waste  their  time  and  their  hopes 
upon  you." 

"How  nice  ot  him!"  Sacha  said,  with  unwonted 
pugnacity.  "  Did  he  carry  his  kindness  to  the  point 
of  confiding  to  you  the  names  of  the  said  callow 
youths?" 

Madame  Nazoumoff  raised  her  eyebrows  as  if  perplexed. 
"The  names?"  she  echoed.  "Their  name  is  legion,  I 
believe;  but  one  or  two  were  particularly  mentioned.  1 
remember  among  the  undesirables — let  me  see — let  me 
see,"  she  continued,  twirling  a  bracelet  around  her  narrow 
white  wrist.  "Ah,  yes,  but  of  course  that  is  quite 
laughable." 

"What  is?" 

"His  mentioning  young  Urlansky  as  a  possible  suitor 
for  your  hand.  Young  Urlansky  who —  But  enough! 
I  understand  myself." 

"  Maybe,  but  I  don't,  you  see,  mamma.  What  is  there 
in  Count  Urlansky 's  name  to  arouse  your  hilarity?" 

Madame  Nazoumoff  raised  herself  upon  the  cushions  of 
her  chair  and  glanced  through  her  jewelled  lorgnon  at 
Sacha. 

"  You  certainly  are  a  wonder!"  she  murmured,  lowering 
for  once  the  register  of  her  terrible  voice;  then,  dropping 

6  67 


SNOW-FIRE 

the  lorgnon,  she  settled  back  again,  closed  her  eyes,  and 
laughed  in  evident  enjoyment  of  a  good  joke. 

"But,  tell  me!"  Sacha  insisted,  feeling  for  once  "her 
angry  passions  rise." 

"  No,  no.  Keep  your  illusions  and  your  unsullied  in- 
nocence as  long  as  you  can,  my  pet!  It  would  be  too  bad 
of  me  to  let  you  know  the  wickedness  of  a  wicked  world. 
Only  don't  pin  your  faith  on  young  men  who  are  the  ab- 
solute and  indisputable  property  of  other  people ;  that's 
all." 

With  difficulty  Sacha  forced  her  tongue  into  its  usual 
manner  of  speech. 

"The  absolute  and  indisputable  property  of  other 
people  ?"  she  asked,  feeling  suddenly  cold  all  over.  "  Who 
is  the  somebody  in  this  case,  and  how  is  it  that  I  should 
never  have  heard  about  the  matter?" 

"That  I  can't  tell  you,  my  child;  perhaps  because 
you  are  not  inquisitive,  perhaps  from  some  utterly  dif- 
ferent reason.  But,  be  this  as  it  may,  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing :  Serge  Urlansky  is  in  hands  that  will  not  relinquish 
him,  nor  do  I  believe  that  he  will  ever  really  care  to  be 
passed  on  to  some  one  else." 

Sacha  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  afraid  to  speak 
lest  she  should  burst  into  tears;  then  turning  her  back 
almost  completely  upon  her  mother  under  pretext  of  re- 
plenishing the  tea-pot,  she  gulped  down  her  anguish  with 
all  the  resolution  that  she  was  still  able  to  summon,  and 
said  slowly: 

"Is  the — the  owner  of  Count  Urlansky  so  very — very 
fascinating  then?" 

Madame  Nazoumoff  smiled  slyly  to  herself,  and  still 
more  slyly  delayed  her  reply. 

"Fascinating?"  she  vouchsafed  at  last.  "Oh  yes,  ex- 
ceedingly so;  but  something  more  than  that,  too.  The 

68 


SNOW-FIRE 

owner — as  you  say  so  effectively — of  that  fortunate  youth 
Urlansky,  possesses  to  a  supreme  degree  what  in  violin- 
land  one  calls  the  Cavata — otherwise  a  mysterious  power 
of  seduction  and  enslavement  that  none  can  resist  or  escape 
— and  when  one  has  the  Cavata — !"  She  purposely  left 
her  sentence  unfinished,  save  by  a  comprehensive  gesture 
which  seemed  to  encircle  the  universe  itself.  Moreover, 
having  reached  the  aim  she  had  sought  to  attain  when 
invading  her  daughter's  privacy  in  more  senses  than  one, 
and  being  by  no  means  anxious  to  enlighten  her  any 
further,  she  suddenly  let  her  head  fall  back  on  the  cushions 
and  gave  a  little  exhausted  sigh. 

"Ah!"  she  murmured,  "discussions  are  so  bad  for  me! 
I  was  almost  well  this  afternoon,  and  now — " 

For  once  Sacha  did  not  respond  to  the  pitiful  accents, 
and  did  not  even  stir. 

"Please  call  Matriona,"  the  Countess  said,  in  a  dying 
voice.  "I  feel  my  neuralgia  coming  on;  quick — I  think 
I  am  going  to  faint!" 

Sacha  did  not  rise,  she  bounced  out  of  her  chair.  For 
the  moment  all  her  exquisite  grace  had  fled;  and  white- 
faced  and  haggard  as  though  her  mother  were  really  at 
the  last  gasp,  she  rushed  to  the  door  and  disappeared  in 
search  of  the  long-suffering  and  faithful  niania,1  the 
Countess's  untiring  drudge.  As  soon  as  she  had  dis- 
appeared the  fainting  woman  opened  her  eyes  and 
laughed  softly. 

"The  trick  is  done,"  she  muttered,  "and  well  done,  I 
flatter  myself.  Demolished — young  Urlansky — utterly 
and  completely  demolished!" 

Then ,  as  the  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  came  up  the 
corridor,  she  flattened  down  again,  her  mouth  half-open, 

1  Niania,  nurse, 
69 


SNOW-FIRE 

her  eyes  closed,  and  her  hands  hanging  limply  at  her  sides, 
breathing  in  a  long-drawn  and  shuddering  way  which 
was  certainly  most  artistic  and  convincing. 

When  she  had  been  tenderly  supported  from  the  room 
between  a  stalwart  footman  and  Matriona,  who  looked 
indignantly  at  Sacha,  as  if  ready  to  make  her  instantly 
responsible  for  this  distressing  state  of  affairs,  the  over- 
wrought girl,  instead  of  following  in  the  wake  of  the 
melancholy  procession  with  offers  of  assistance,  double- 
locked  the  door  behind  it  and  began  to  walk  backward 
and  forward  like  a  caged  animal. 

Now  and  then  a  dry,  hard  little  sob  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot,  but  there  were  no  tears  in  her  big  brown  eyes 
as  yet.  To  have  been  fooled  and  duped  seemed  intoler- 
able to  her;  and  fooled  and  duped  she  had  been,  without 
the  possibility  of  a  doubt,  for  the  especial  diversion  and 
amusement  of  a  professional  "heart-breaker,"  a  man  who 
was  "  the  absolute  and  indisputable  property  "  of  some  one 
else !  She  paused  a  second  in  her  erratic  progress  up  and 
down  and  stared  fixedly  before  her,  vainly  trying  to  co- 
ordinate her  thoughts.  "Ah,  yes!"  she  cried  out,  sud- 
denly. "And  when  he  saw  that  the  jest  was  becoming 
serious  he  ran  away.  Coward,  coward,  coward!"  she  re- 
peated, stamping  her  foot  so  violently  that  a  charming 
little  Dresden  statuette  on  a  table  nearby  fell  with  a  crash 
and  shattered  into  a  thousand  pieces.  "Coward — yes, 
and  liar!"  she  cried  again,  whirling  the  debris  about  with 
the  edge  of  her  train,  as  she  resumed  her  pacings.  "  But 
I  don't  regret  him — I  don't,  I  don't — I  don't!"  In  proof 
of  which  she  suddenly  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before 
a  sofa,  and  hiding  her  head  in  her  folded  arms  burst  into 
convulsive  weeping. 

For  a  long  time  poor  Sacha  remained  there,  battling 
with  her  misery.  Then  gradually  the  shuddering  childish 

70 


SNOW-FIRE 

sobs  grew  slower  and  more  controlled,  until  at  last  they 
ceased  altogether,  leaving  her  weak  and  trembling  still, 
but  more  capable  of  reasoning  with  herself.  Her  fury 
against  Serge  was  no  longer  quite  absolute  either,  as  if 
the  flood  of  her  tears  had  washed  away  the  worst  bitter- 
ness from  it. 

She  was  quite  certain  that  she  hated  him,  but  already 
she  seemed  inclined  to  find  excuses  for  his  behavior,  and 
place  more  of  the  blame  on  her  own  shoulders.  He  was 
worthless — a  contemptible  flirt,  of  course,  but  what  of  her 
who  had  eagerly  accepted  his  admiration  and  had  so 
stupidly  believed  in  a  love  that  never  once  had  been 
formally  declared  ?  He  had  treated  her  like  the  coquette 
he  must  naturally  have  thought  her — but  here  her 
wounded  pride  asserted  itself  again.  Well,  let  him  come 
back  to-night,  if  he  cared  to,  and  she  would  show  him 
what  manner  of  mistake  he  had  made! 

She  did  not  even  wish  to  know  now  who  the  "  cavata- 
woman"  was.  She  was  welcome  to  him,  whoever  she 
might  be — as  far  as  Sacha  was  concerned,  at  least — and  a 
fine  bargain  any  woman  had  of  it  who  owned  Serge 
Urlansky!  Two  or  three  great  tears  welled  obstinately 
up,  but  she  angrily  mopped  therii  on  her  drenched  little 
handkerchief,  and  rising  slowly,  dragged  herself  back  to 
the  chair  by  the  fire. 

It  was  more  than  time  to  dress  for  dinner — a  solitary 
dinner,  since  her  mother  was  undoubtedly  already  swim- 
ming in  clouds  of  ether,  but  she  could  not  yet  gather  up 
enough  courage  to  ring  for  her  maid,  and  stayed  huddled 
in  her  chair,  listening  vaguely  to  the  clear  little  chimes  of 
passing  sleigh-bells — mindful  of  the  silvery  ones  which 
of  late  had  so  often  stopped  their  gay  music  before  her 
door.  Her  battle  was  won  though,  of  that  she  felt  con- 
vinced ;  and  it  would  be  her  task  after  this  to  efface  from 

7* 


SNOW-FIRE 

every   mind    the   remembrance   of   her   humiliating   in- 
fatuation. 

Not  till  the  following  morning  did  it  occur  to  her  to  ask 
herself  why,  since  bitter  experience  had  taught  her  to 
disbelieve  everything  her  mother  said,  on  this  occasion 
she  had  accepted  her  statements  as  absolute  fact?  This 
was  a  comforting  thought,  and  soon,  of  the  shock  she 
had  received  there  remained  only  a  bracing  effect,  that 
enabled  her  to  control  the  outward  signs  of  her  unhap- 
piness. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  frozen  stars  are  bolted  through  the  sapphire  heaven-floor, 
Their  rays  descend  like  beards  of  rime;  the  cold  is  wonder  sore, 
And  ghastly  white  to  ghostly  gray  the  lifeless  levels  flow, 
Save  where  the  wolf -pack  trails  along  that  loneliness  of  snow. 

Then,  as  from  black  and  utter  space  where  blinded  worlds  are  lost 
Taloned  with  icicles  of  fire  and  fledged  with  naked  frost, 
Comes  down  the  wind — no  bar  she  bides,  no  forest  fetterings, 
And  wide  the  dimness  quakes  and  clangs  beneath  her  surging 
wings. 

Yet  farther  than  the  clamor  runs  that  of  her  sweep  doth  tell, 
Trembles  the  stillness  like  a  voice  amid  an  organ-swell 
Alone  and  high,  a  song  to  fly  where,  in  her  measure  due, 
Slow  with  the  royal  planets  rolls  that  iron-founded  blue. 

And,  to  the  loss  of  lights  that  blazed  before  her  beauty  rose, 
A  moon  of  ringing  silver  rounds  above  the  shining  snows; 
It  is  not  night — it  is  not  day — illimitable  lie 
Unsullied  leagues  of  ermine  clear  beneath  a  crystal  sky! 

The  Northern  Night — M.  M. 

TWENTY-FIVE  degrees  below  zero,  a  sky  of  burnished 
blue  steel  bolted  through  and  through  with  great  diamonds, 
and  everywhere  snow  already  so  hard  packed  and  polished 
by  the  frost  that  the  streets  seemed  paved  with  mother- 
of-pearl.  An  ideal  night,  indeed,  for  the  Grand-ducal 
troika  party,  and  as  the  eight  or  ten  big  sleighs,  each  with 
three  prancing  horses  harnessed  abreast,  left  the  fashion- 
able thoroughfares  to  enter  the  faubourgs,  merry  bursts 
of  laughter  again  and  again  overtoned  the  jingling  bells. 

For  quite  a  distance  they  raced  along  a  wide  avenue, 

73 


SNOW-FIRE 

empty  of  all  traffic,  bordered  on  one  side  by  the  jagged 
palisades  of  small  market  -  gardens  now  blanketed  in 
spotless  white,  and  on  the  other  by  a  row  of  little  wooden 
houses  once  painted  in  bright  colors,  but  now  reduced 
by  the  rigors  of  many  winters  and  the  drenching  of  many 
spring  and  autumn  rains  to  a  uniformity  of  nameless  tints 
rather  depressing  to  behold  in  daylight.  The  small, 
square  double- windows  of  these  humble  dwellings,  how- 
ever, were  in  almost  every  instance  filled  with  blossoming 
geraniums  and  thick  foliage,  showing  pretty  silhouettes 
against  the  down-drawn  calico  shades  made  faintly  trans- 
parent by  lamp  and  fire-light  within — a  sight  that  augured 
well  for  the  prosperty  of  the  inferior  government-employe's 
and  petty  tradesmen  who  lived  there.  The  whole  broad 
street  was  deserted  and  silent,  for  even  prowling  dogs 
and  adventurous  cats  know  when  it  is  right  for  them  to 
seek  shelter  within  doors,  and  as  to  the  owners  of  the  odd 
little  houses,  nine  o'clock  at  the  latest  in  winter  found 
them  invariably  locked  in  for  the  night  beside  their  cozy 
porcelain  stoves. 

A  bit  farther  on  a  scanty  clump  of  birches  shivered  in 
the  wind,  every  thin  branchlet  hung  with  tears  of  rime — 
dew-drops  three  months  old — that  had  sparkled  and 
trembled  on  the  satiny  shoots  until  one  cold,  clear  dawn 
had  suddenly  solidified  them  and  turned  them  into  en- 
during crystal. 

Thence  the  road  rolled  into  the  open  country  toward 
the  great  woods  of  dusky  fir,  laden  with  long  pendants  of 
ice  and  tufts  of  delicate  down,  that  made  them  resemble 
gigantic  Christmas  trees  prepared  by  some  kindly  genie 
for  all  the  good  little  children  of  Russia. 

On  and  on  the  sleighs  etched  their  rapid  way  until  at 
last  from  the  heart  of  the  fairy-forest  lights  began  to 
twinkle  brightly,  announcing  the  near  proximity  of  the 

74 


SNOW-FIRE 

famous  hostelry,  where  it  is  fashionable  to  go  at  least 
once  or  twice  during  the  winter  and  listen  to  the  gipsies 
singing  their  inspiring  national  airs. 

It  is  not  easy  to  extricate  one's  self  from  the  fur  bags, 
robes,  and  hooded  coats  that  are  de  rigueur  on  such 
expeditions,  but  this  arduous  feat  was  accomplished  with 
singular  dexterity  by  men  and  women  alike,  and  from  the 
ungainly  chrysalides  that  had  tumbled  out  of  the  sleighs 
brilliant  butterflies  emerged  one  by  one,  to  cluster  round 
lordly  fires  of  tree-trunks  blazing  on  the  double  hearths 
of  the  inn-hall.  Rooms  of  course  had  been  engaged  in 
advance,  and  appetites  being  keen  exceedingly  after  this 
frosty  night-ride,  Daria  immediately  led  her  guests  to  that 
in  which  the  flower-banked  supper-tables  were  prepared. 

At  that  moment  the  Boniface  himself  bent  low  before 
her  and  whispered  something  which  made  her  pause  be- 
fore taking  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  long  board. 

"Anton  Loukitch  here  reminds  me,"  she  explained, 
"  that  you  might  find  it  amusing  to  catch  your  fish  before 
eating  it.  What  do  you  say,  good  people,  to  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  sport  with  the  net?" 

This  was  greeted  with  a  burst  of  applause,  and,  preceded 
by  the  proprietor  of  this  most  luxurious  and  costly  extra- 
mural restaurant  of  Petersburg,  they  all  trooped  to  the 
winter-garden,  where  in  a  miniature  lake  of  purling  water 
fat  little  trout  scampered  hither  and  thither  between  sur- 
prisingly home-like  and  moss-grown  boulders.  Silken  nets 
with  beribboned  mahogany  handles  were  distributed, 
and  in  another  minute  the  most  ardent  and  interesting 
hunt  had  begun ;  for  the  wily  fish,  remembering  no  doubt 
previous  encounters  of  the  same  nature,  dodged  and  dived 
and  darted  away  in  the  most  disconcerting  fashion,  mak- 
ing clever  play  with  each  little  pool  of  shadow  as  trout 
know  so  well  how  to  do. 

75 


SNOW- FIRE 

"Don't  you  want  to  try?"  Daria  asked  Sacha,  who 
had  drawn  away  from  the  rest  and  was  apparently  lost 
in  admiration  before  a  Chinese  hibiscus  in  blindingly 
scarlet  bloom. 

"No,  thank  you  very  much,  I  think  not.  But  Your 
Imperial  Highness  also  neglects  to  tempt  sportsman's 
luck." 

"Yes,"  Daria  answered.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
would  not  care  to  eat  the  trout  if  I  had  to  catch  it  like 
this.  In  the  open  or  at  the  '  horn  of  a  wood '  I  don't  mind 
pitting  my  talent  against  theirs,  but  there  is  something 
treacherous  and  underhanded  about  this  that  I  don't  like 
at  all.  To  my  mind,  lights,  music,  and  perfumes  don't 
agree  with  cruelties — even  small  ones." 

Sacha  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  for  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  been  allowed  a  glimpse  of  the  softer,  tenderer 
side  of  a  woman  accounted  singularly  harsh  and  heartless. 
"  I  believe  it  is  just  what  I  feel,  although  I  might  not  have 
known  how  to  express  it,"  she  said,  quickly. 

"Oh  yes,  you  would,  if  you  had  reflected  a  moment. 
Trout  are  not  passionately  fascinating,  but  still  there's 
no  knowing  what  they  really  feel,  and  so — a — but  here's 
Monsieur  de  Coetmen,  who  seems  to  have  joined  the  ranks 
of  the  idle,"  she  continued,  beckoning  to  the  young 
officer. 

"A  Breton  who  does  not  love  fishing,"  she  laughed,  ex- 
tending her  hand  for  him  to  kiss.  "What  an  oddity  I" 

"  I  like  it  well  enough  from  a  boat,  a  rock,  or  a  grassy 
bank;  but  not  so  much  in  a  greenhouse,"  he  replied, 
smiling. 

"  Fine  spirits  like  ours  were  certain  to  meet.  Sacha- 
Basilievna  and  I  agree  that  there  is  a  touch  of  barbarity 
in  the  pastime,  but  we  three  alone  are  of  that  opinion,  it 
appears,  for  the  rest  are  amusing  themselves  enormously." 

76 


"Grand-Duke  Volodia  is  not  fishing  either,"  Alain  re- 
marked. "  He  is  smoking  a  cigarette  at  the  other  end  of 
the  garden  all  by  himself." 

"Would  you  mind  going  to  fetch  him?"  Daria  asked, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  departed  on  his  errand  she  said 
lightly:  "  An  uncommonly  nice  fellow  that  hussar;  simple, 
modest,  and  utterly  unconscious  of  his  own  worth — a  rare 
quality  in  these  days  of  pose  and  bluff." 

Sacha  nodded  her  pretty  head  in  instant  acquiescence, 
and  her  eyes  turned  softly  in  the  direction  of  the  sanded 
altee  up  which  Alain  and  Volodia  were  coming  to'join  them. 
Just  then  the  fishers,  tired  of  the  game,  abandoned  it; 
and  there  being  no  further  reason  for  delay,  supper  was 
announced. 

"You  wanted  me,  Doushka?"  Volodia  said,  linking  his 
arm  in  his  mother's  as  everybody  hurried  unceremoniously 
back  to  the  dining-room. 

"I  always  do,"  she  answered,  giving  his  arm  a  little 
loving  squeeze,  "  but  incidentally  I  desired  your  presence 
upon  the  scene  to  give  de  Coetmen  the  chance  of  becoming 
Sacha's  escort." 

"I  have,  I  believe,  the  most  Machiavellian  mother  in 
Christendom,"  he  whispered,  pulling  back  her  chair  and 
arranging  the  folds  of  her  skirt.  "And  where  do  I  sit?" 
he  added  aloud. 

"  Anywhere  you  like.  This  is  a  go-as-you-please  affair, 
remember." 

"  All  right,  then ;  here  I  am  and  here  I  stay — beneath  the 
maternal  wing";  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word  he 
settled  down  at  her  left  hand  amid  a  laughing  chorus  of 
protest.  "  It  is  not  fair — no  monopolies  allowed!"  etc. 

The  feast,  beginning  with  koultbaks,1  and  kummel  in 

1  Small  cakes  stuffed  with  fish  and  chopped  hard-boiled  eggs. 

77 


SNOW-FIRE 

lieu  of  sakoushki,  proved  to  be  an  agreeably  erratic  meal 
at  which  delicacies  from  all  countries  met  and  amicably 
fraternized,  and  with  the  coffee  and  cigarettes  came  the 
dusky  musicians,  who,  as  Volodia  explained,  were  the  true 
"  pibce  de  persistance  "  of  the  evening. 

Nowhere  else  excepting  on  the  Hungarian  puszta  can 
one  hear  such  music,  and  silence  absolute  and  complete 
was  the  homage  paid  by  every  one  present  to  those  won- 
derful artists,  who  technically  do  not  know  a  note  and 
yet  can  make  such  melody  with  voice  or  violin  that  every 
soul  thrills  in  response,  and  every  heart  beats  the  quicker. 

Almost  simultaneously  Daria  and  Sacha  had  drawn 
back  from  the  table  and  sat  practically  in  shadow  on 
either  side  of  the  room.  Diametrically  opposed  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  they  were  nevertheless  moved  by 
an  identical  pain  just  then;  and  as  one  nerve-thrilling  air 
followed  another  the  thought  of  Serge  imposed  itself  more 
tyrannically  upon  them  both,  acting  on  each  according 
to  the  nature  it  dealt  with.  Fortunately  every  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  Tzigans,  else  Daria's  unusual  pallor  and 
Sacha's  quivering  little  face  would  have  seemed,  even 
under  the  circumstances,  to  indicate  a  somewhat  ex- 
aggerated degree  of  melodic  emotion.  A  slow  anger  against 
herself,  against  the  world,  against  life  and  its  idle  and  use- 
less cruelties  was  rising  in  Daria's  heart;  her  whole  past 
with  its  bitter  disappointments,  its  many  sorrows  and 
regrets,  began  to  obsess  her  as  she  listened  to  the  chanting 
of  those  insidious  strings — passing  like  a  broken  hope 
from  a  wild  intoxication  of  gayety  to  minor  chords  that 
sobbed  and  moaned  and  grieved.  Then  with  a  snap  the 
tension  broke  brutally  and  a  rollicking  czardas  swept  the 
Austrian  Prince  to  his  feet. 

"Elje'n— Elje'n!"  he  cried  aloud.  "Won't  anybody 
try  what  this  is  like  ?"  and  in  another  second,  with  a  swish 

78 


SNOW-FIRE 

of  silken  skirts  and  a  clink  of  spurs,  those  who  knew  the 
dance  and  those  who  did  not  were  whirling  madly  around 
the  table  and  out  into  the  neighboring  hall,  followed  by 
the  musicians  themselves,  mad  with  enthusiasm  and 
playing  as  they  ran. 

Daria,  awakened  from  her  sorry  dream,  shivered  and 
drew  her  hand  quickly  across  her  eyes.  The  room  was 
empty  now,  for  Sacha  had  profited  by  the  confusion  to 
take  refuge  in  the  deserted  winter-garden,  and  with  a 
gesture  of  unutterable  lassitude  she  rose.  Her  one  im- 
pulse was  to  go  away  at  once  and  let  her  guests  take  care 
of  themselves,  but  the  habit  of  self-control  was  too  in- 
grained to  be  easily  broken,  and  she  stood  for  a  few  seconds 
motionless  to  recover  herself  before  joining  the  rest. 

"Are  you  not  feeling  well,  Madame?"  said  a  voice,  as 
Alain,  who  had  almost  instinctively  been  looking  for 
Sacha,  came  suddenly  upon  her  there  all  alone.  She 
turned  slowly  and  saw  in  his  dark-blue  eyes  so  much 
concern  and  sympathy  that  she  was  touched. 

"  I  think  the  room  was  too  warm  and  the  music  a  little 
too  overpowering,"  she  answered,  with  a  slight  tremor  of 
the  lips  that  made  him  feel  curiously  uncomfortable, 
as  any  sign  of  weakness  in  a  very  strong  person  is  apt  to 
do.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  continued,  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  going  home,  but  I  am  all  right  again  now." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  he  insisted.  "Why  don't  you  let 
me  tell  them  that  you  are  tired?  After  all,  if  they  want 
to  go  on  romping,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be 
forced  to  stay  and  watch  them." 

She  laughed.  "  Romping  is  the  right  word,"  she 
acknowledged,  "but  Volodia  would  be  terrified;  for  you 
know  I  am  never  sick,  never  tired,  never  anything  that 
other  people  are — or  at  least  I  am  never  supposed  to  be, 
which  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  I  am  a  hard,  harsh, 

79 


SNOW-FIRE 

heartless,  reckless,  indestructible  woman,  Captain  de 
Coetmen;  don't  ever  forget  that." 

"  I  wish  Serge  were  back!"  thought  poor  Alain,  and  for- 
getting in  his  desire  to  help  her  the  distance  that  separated 
them,  he  said,  impulsively:  "Please  don't  malign  your- 
self so,  Madame,  and  don't  mind  me,  I  am  of  so  little  con- 
sequence. Here,  sit  down  quietly  on  this  bench  in  the 
window-recess.  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  disturbed." 

"Really,  Alain  de  Coetmen,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  from 
which  all  reserve  had  certainly  disappeared.  "I  judged 
you  rightly  long  ago.  You — you  are  a  great  exception 
to  the  general  rule  of  young  men.  I  want  you  always 
to  remember  that  I  was  your  mother's  friend;  you  under- 
stand what  that  means!  Now  give  me  your  arm.  We 
will  go  in  search  of  Countess  Dermetchieff,  and,  if  she  is 
willing  to  take  charge  of  this  unruly  crew,  I  will  do  as  you 
say  and  go  home." 

Countess  Dermetchieff  was,  however,  not  to  be  found  at 
once,  and  Alain  suggesting  the  winter-garden  as  a  place 
where  she  might  possibly  have  sought  refuge  from  bustle 
and  noise,  they  at  last  went  there.  It  was  deserted,  or 
so  they  judged  at  first,  and  very  silent  save  for  the  cool 
murmur  of  the  central  fountain  with  its  misty  jets  of 
spray  rising  and  falling  upon  groups  of  pink  lotus  and 
golden-hearted  lilies,  but  as  they  passed  down  a  wide 
path  overarched  by  fan-leaved  palms  they  came  face  to 
face  with  Sacha  hurrying  back  to  the  hall,  and  looking 
almost  herself  again,  although  her  eyes  had  a  very  no- 
ticeable heaviness.  She  started  and  blushed  so  guiltily 
that  even  her  pretty  neck  and  shoulders  flushed  pink, 
and  began  an  incoherent  explanation  that  made  the  two 
others  stare  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  are  tired,  too,"  the  Grand- 
Duchess  remarked,  and  Alain  wondered  at  the  sudden 

80 


SNOW-FIRE 

relapse  into  her  ordinary  cold  and  distant  manner.  "If 
you  like  you  might  drive  off  with  me  and  I  will  leave  you 
at  your  door.  We  are  hunting  for  Countess  Dermetchieff, 
to  see  if  she  will  consent  to  chaperon  the  rest  in  my  place." 

"Your  Imperial  Highness  is  very  kind,"  Sacha  faltered. 
"I  would  like  nothing  better." 

"Well,"  Alain  continued  to  wonder,  "women  are  curi- 
ous creatures.  Here  are  two  who  are  ready  to  rush  at 
full  speed  miles  out  of  town  to  amuse  themselves,  only  to 
appear  absolutely  miserable  when  the  fun  is  in  full  swing ! 
Daria-Mikaelovna  I  understand;  but  Princess  Sacha  — 
what  can  be  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

He  meekly  followed  the  subjects  of  his  wonderment, 
his  mind  hard  at  work  on  the  question  which  since  the 
beginning  of  time  has  puzzled  man  that  is  born  of  woman, 
and  it  was  a  relief  to  him  finally  to  come  upon  cheery 
Countess  Dermetchieff,  her  pretty  old  face  wreathed  in 
smiles.  She,  fortunately  for  herself,  had  long  passed 
the  age  of  acute  sorrow  and  exaggerated  heart-aches, 
without,  strangely  enough,  losing  one  tithe  of  her  grace 
or  even  her  enjoyment  of  life,  and  was  so  extremely  satis- 
factory in  consequence  that  she  made  herself  adored 
wherever  she  went.  As  had  been  expected,  she  readily 
accepted  the  charge  of  the  laughing  dancing-party, 
promised  to  make  suitable  excuses  for  the  august  deserter, 
and  to  soothe  Volodia.  Immediately  Alain  escorted 
Daria  and  Sacha  to  the  Grand-ducal  troika;  afterward 
returning  to  the  others  in  an  abstracted  mood  which 
rendered  him  a  poor  contributor  to  the  general  gayety. 

During  the  long  drive  townward  neither  of  them  spoke. 
Wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  their  furs,  they  leaned  deep  into 
the  soft  cushions  of  the  broad  sleigh,  glad  of  the  excuse 
afforded  them  by  the  icy  night- wind,  which  forbade  the 
lifting  of  the  thick  face-coverings,  to  avoid  conversation; 

81 


SNOW-FIRE 

each  believing, moreover,  that  the  other  had  fallen  asleep; 
and  when  the  horses  were  pulled  up  with  an  artistic 
flourish  in  front  of  Sacha's  house,  a  quick  hand-shake 
and  a  nod  was  all  they  exchanged. 

It  was  later  than  she  had  thought  when  Daria  at  last 
alighted  within  her  own  portals  and  walked  slowly  up- 
stairs within  the  double  hedge  of  poinsettias  over- 
topping the  balustrades.  She  longed  to  be  alone,  and 
felt  tired  and  dispirited — two  unusual  things  with  her — 
but  as  she  reached  the  first  landing,  the  clang  of  a  side- 
door  often  used  by  the  Grand-Duke  when  returning  home 
in  the  small  hours  made  her  start  almost  nervously,  and 
pause  for  an  instant. 

The  step  that  immediately  began  to  ascend  she  knew 
only  too  well  in  its  ponderous  uncertainty,  and  the  corners 
of  her  short  upper  lip  took  on  a  little  tilt  of  contempt. 

"That  you,  Daria?"  the  incorrigible  asked  from  the 
thickly  carpeted  stairs,  one  hand  clutching  the  banister, 
the  other  holding  up  the  scabbard  dangling  at  his  side. 
"Glad  find  you  in — something  t'  tell  you." 

"At  this  time?"  she  said,  throwing  back  her  hood  im- 
patiently. "  You  had  better  go  to  bed,  Stepan." 

"  Bed  ?  Nonsense — qui'  early  yet.  Think  I've  supped 
too  well,  eh?  Mistake;  i's  all  ri' — sweetheart!" 

Daria  gave  an  imperceptible  shrug  of  disgust,  then 
without  even  glancing  at  the  drowsy-eyed  man,  whose 
extraordinary  good  looks  neither  approaching  age  nor 
excesses  of  all  kinds  had  succeeded  in  destroying,  quietly 
passed  on  to  her  apartments. 

"  Send  'way  your  women,  'r  else  make  'em  wait — some- 
where out  o'  earshot."  He  was  at  her  heels  now,  and 
knowing  of  old  the  uselessness  of  argument  under  the 
circumstances,  she  chose  the  lesser  of  two  evils  and  let 
him  come  in  with  her. 

82 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  lamps  were  burning  low  beneath  their  gauzy 
shades,  and  the  fire  alone  glowed  brightly  on  the  wide 
bronze-manteled  hearth.  The  closed  curtains  and  fra- 
grant masses  of  flowers  on  consoles  and  tables  gave  an 
especially  inviting  look  to  the  room,  and  Stepan-Petrovich, 
conscious  of  something  peculiarly  pleasant  and  agreeable, 
sniffed  the  air  as  he  entered. 

"Ex'llent  blooms  to  be  'n  night-duty,"  he  appreciative- 
ly remarked,  letting  himself  sink  almost  at  full  stretch 
into  a  deep  fireside  chair.  "What  d'  you  call  'em?" 

"Have  you  come  here  to  talk  botany?"  Daria  asked, 
dropping  her  furs  on  the  floor  and  coming  toward  him  in 
her  pale  crepe  de  Chine  gown  that  defined  her  figure  with 
the  faithfulness  of  a  wet  cloth,  "because  in  that  case  I'll 
ask  you  to  postpone  the  pleasure." 

"Now  don't  you  be  in — t-temper,"  he  amiably  sug- 
gested, looking  up  at  her  between  half-shut  lids.  Then 
with  a  gesture  that  indicated  her  graceful  outline,  he 
added:  "Pretty — very  pretty.  'S  really  'stonishing  how 
you  keep  y'r  beauty — thas  comes  of  being  thurrbred." 

She  stamped  her  foot  in  exasperation.  "See  here, 
Stepan!  Stop  that  foolishness  or  I'll  leave  you  here  to 
talk  nonsense  to  the  fire!  Have  you,  yes  or  no,  some- 
thing important  to  say?" 

"Certainly.  Ex — exsheed'nly  important.  Otherwise 
wouldn't  I've  waited  to  be  'Itogether  sober?  Not  that 
I've  taken  t'  much,  y'  know — but — " 

"You  needed  Dutch  courage?"  she  asked,  curtly. 

"  P'raps;  I'm  always  a  bit  'fraid  of  you.  Y'  know  that, 
too!" 

"  Rubbish!  I  wish  to  God  you  were  afraid  of  me.  It 
might  make  you  behave  yourself.  Oh!  the  shame  of  it, 
the  shame  of  it!"  she  said,  bitterly.  "You,  with  grown- 
up sons  who  can  judge  you,  to  disgrace  yourself  like  this!" 
7  83 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Won't — sit  down  ?"  he  interrupted.  "  Awf'l  fatiguing 
t'  preach  standin'.  Talk  like  little  white  lamb  of  saint- 
linesh.  Do  sit  down." 

With  a  violent  effort  she  kept  herself  in  check,  for  she 
realized  that  if  once  she  gave  her  tongue  free  rein  another 
distressing  scene  would  be  added  to  the  constantly 
lengthening  list;  and  in  a  voice  as  unbending  as  a  steel  rod 
she  again  requested  him  to  tell  her  what  he  had  come  to 
say  or  get  out. 

"  Ver'  well!"  He  straightened  himself  a  trifle,  steadied 
himself  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  fell  to  gazing  into  the 
dancing  pink  flames. 

"Well?"  she  insisted. 

"Oh,  it's  'bout  money,  'f  course — always  'bout  that 
damned  money.  I  want  some." 

She  laughed  suddenly  in  a  way  that  for  an  instant 
almost  entirely  dissipated  the  effects  of  the  heartening 
potations  he  had  acknowledged,  and  left  him  shorn  of  their 
temporary  help.  "You've  been  gambling  again.  How 
much  do  you  need?" 

"  Gambling  ? — naturally.  Everybody  gambles,  you  in- 
cluded," he  said,  in  very  nearly  his  ordinary  tone.  "  Why 
shouldn't  I  gamble?" 

"Because  Croesus  himself  couldn't  afford  to  play  as 
often  and  as  high  as  you  do;  especially  after  supper." 

"  One  'd  think  you're  talking  to  a  beggar,"  he  grumbled, 
"a  dissipated  beggar!  New  idea — that  I'm  too  poor  to 
play  a  little  roulette!  Thish  only  passing  'mbarrassment." 

"That's  what  you  always  say." 

"Solemn  truth — ever'  time!" 

"  And  how  long  do  you  mean  to  keep  this  up  ?" 

"Thash  conundrum — don't  like  conundrums,"  he  as- 
serted. He  had  relapsed,  perhaps  purposely,  into  his  first 
and  less  comprehensible  manner  of  speech,  but  tricks  did 

84 


SNOW-FIRE 

not  serve  greatly  with  Daria,  and  in  two  swift  steps  she 
was  close  to  him. 

"Sit  up!"  she  commanded,  catching  him  brusquely  by 
the  shoulder.  "  Enough  absurdities.  How  much  do  you 
need?  If  I  can  give  it  to  you,  well  and  good;  if  I  can't, 
you'll  have  to  go  and  humiliate  yourself  to  your  nephew 
again — a  pleasing  task,  I  must  say!  Excepting  you 
prefer  to  pawn  the  gold-plate  off  the  dining-room 
walls." 

" How  much  can  you  give  me?" 

The  question  in  its  wily  straightforwardness  took  her 
completely  by  surprise,  though  on  reflection  she  would 
have  found  it  to  be  merely  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected of  him. 

"  Better  tell  me  how  much  you  absolutely  need,  if  you 
can  bring  yourself  to  do  so,"  she  countered.  "  It  will  take 
me  some  time  to  find  what  I  can  spare." 

This  was  not  at  all  what  he  wanted,  and  his  steadily 
clearing  brain  advised  him  to  temporize  before  admitting 
the  magnitude  of  the  sum  required;  as  also,  if  possible, 
to  leave  her  under  the  impression  that  he  was  still  far 
from  being  himself,  since  thus,  should  matters  reach  one 
of  their  customary  sharp  turns,  a  disavowal  of  his  state- 
ments would  be  easier.  So,  instead  of  replying  to  her 
question,  he  proceeded  to  shift  the  issue  by  carrying  the 
war  into  her  camp. 

"You  spend  money  like  w-w-water  too,"  he  grum- 
bled, "but  that  doesn't  prevent  you  from  scolding, 
does  it?" 

"  I  spend  my  money  only,  which  makes  a  difference." 

"Hm-m-mm!  Still,  depends  what  you  spend  it 
for." 

She  turned  quickly  and  looked  unamiably  at  him, 
sprawling  there  in  the  firelight  with  blinking  eyes,  a 

85 


SNOW-FIRE 

half-smoked  cigarette  dangling  from  the  corner  of  his 
loosened  mouth.  "  You  are  not,  I  suppose,  going  to  begin 
mixing  yourself  in  my  private  affairs,"  she  remarked, 
coldly.  "It's  rather  late  in  the  day." 

" It's  my  right,  isn't  it?" 

"Your  right?"  she  echoed,  standing  straight  as  a  lance 
before  him.  "No,  a  million  times  no!  Listen  to  me, 
Stepan,  and  understand  once  for  all — you  are  not  so 
muddled  as  you  would  have  me  believe,  so  pay  attention. 
When  I  married  you  I  loved  you  passionately,  and  be- 
lieved in  you  heart  and  soul — you  know  that." 

He  moved  uneasily,  twisting  in  his  chair  so  as  to  avoid 
having  to  look  at  her;  and  certain  now  that  he  was  per- 
fectly able  to  follow  what  she  said,  she  went  on:  "I  was 
little  more  than  a  child  then,  and  it  took  me  some  time  to 
find  out  what  you  really  were — and  are  still.  Later  I 
was  told  by  some  one  who  knew,  how  you  cynically  re- 
marked, when  for  political  reasons  pressure  was  brought 
upon  you  to  ask  for  my  hand,  that  'there  was  a  young 
girl  who  little  guessed  what  was  in  store  for  her';  adding 
that  no  woman  existed  who  could  make  you  renounce 
your  pleasure.  And  God  knows  that  what  you  call 
pleasure  is  no  admissible  pastime !  Nevertheless  I  tried — 
I  tried  to  win  you  back — " 

She  interlocked  her  hands  for  a  second  as  if  to  sink 
her  rings  into  the  flesh,  and  then  recommenced;  for  she 
was  in  the  mood  now  to  speak  out  all  that  was  in  her 
mind. 

"  Neither  the  birth  of  your  children  nor  my  constant 
devotion  availed,  and  at  last  a  day  came  when,  matured 
by  the  life  you  led  me,  I  gave  you  your  choice  between 
changing  your  ways  or  virtually  separating  them  from 
mine.  You  chose  the  latter,  giving  me — and  that  readily, 
and  even  joyfully — full  liberty  to  do  as  I  pleased,  provided 

86 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

I  let  you  do  the  same.  You  wanted  to  be  free — you  have 
been  so  ever  since.  I  never  questioned  you  any  more, 
and  you  were  able  to  go  on  your  crooked  path  unhindered ; 
though  whenever  you  have  been  in  trouble  you  have  come 
to  me,  and  I  have  always  helped  you  as  best  I  could. 
The  humiliations  I  continued  to  undergo  weigh  heavily 
in  the  balance,  but  still  I  would  not  be  mean-spirited 
enough  to  remind  you  of  them  if  you  did  not  suddenly 
appear  inclined  to  take  a  tone  with  me  which  I  will  not 
accept  from  you.  You  have  no  rights  over  me — not  even 
that  of  questioning  my  actions,  whatever  they  may  be. 
To  me  you  are  merely  the  father  of  my  children,  and  only 
as  such  do  I  tolerate  you  at  all.  If  I  had  become  the 
very  worst  of  women  you  could  find  no  fault  with  me — 
as  it  is,  you  have  done  harm  enough  and  to  spare.  But 
let  that  pass.  I  am  what  you  have  made  me,  and  it  is 
nothing  for  either  of  us  to  be  proud  of." 

She  paused,  white  to  the  lips,  her  beautiful  eyes  flashing 
coldly,  and,  startled  into  complete  soberness,  he  looked 
full  at  her  for  the  first  time  that  night,  and  quickly  turned 
his  gaze  away.  Every  word  she  had  spoken  was  literally 
true — he  knew  it  well — and  all  at  once  something  faintly 
resembling  remorse  came  over  him. 

"It  is  not  too  late — even  now,"  he  murmured.  "We 
might  perhaps  get  to  understand  each  other  better,  now 
that  we  are  older,  and  wiser." 

"Wiser!"  She  laughed  her  harshest  little  laugh. 
"When  the  Devil  wanted  sympathy  he  tried  to  be  a 
monk,  didn't  he  ?  but  when  he  got  well — !  It's  a  new  de- 
parture for  you  to  offer  me  goody-goody  stuff  like  this, 
but  I  know  you  too  well.  Darby  and  Joan  sentiments, 
eh  ?  They  wouldn't  last  two  weeks,  if  that,  and  then —  ? 
Bah,  what  intolerable  nonsense!  Keep  to  your  side  of 
the  road — I  to  mine,  that's  the  only  course  now  for  us 

87 


SNOW-FIRE 

both.     But  tell  me  instantly,  how  much  do  you  want? 
As  usual,  I'll  do  what  I  can — it  goes  without  saying." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  painful  moments.  She 
had  turned  her  back  completely  on  him,  and  stood  wait- 
ing, as  immovable  as  the  bronze  caryatids  of  the  great 
mantel  behind  her.  At  length  he  rose,  shook  himself  as 
one  does  after  receiving  a  cold  shower,  and  hesitatingly 
touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"Have  you  finished  your  calculations?"  she  asked, 
without  altering  her  position. 

"Yes."  And  bending  forward  he  half-whispered  a 
figure. 

"  Heavens!"  she  cried,  turning  all  of  a  piece  and  gazing 
at  him  in  stupefaction. 

"  It  isn't  so  gigantic,"  he  said,  meekly.  "  You  needn't 
look  at  me  like  that." 

"It  is  gigantic,"  she  rejoined,  "even  for  us,  when  you 
consider  how  huge  our  necessary  expenses  are.  Private 
individuals  can  cut  their  coats  according  to  their  cloth — 
we  cannot.  No  one  knows  it  better  than  you.  You  can 
be  careful  and  methodical  enough  when  you  choose,  al- 
most too  much  so;  but  when  it  comes  to  gambling  or — ' 
She  paused  and  completed  the  sentence  with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders.  "Well,  you  must  have  it,  I  suppose." 

"  When  can  you  give  it  to  me  ?" 

She  continued  to  stare  at  the  little  pink  flames  licking 
the  crumbling  logs,  wondering  how  she  could  accomplish 
this  new  miracle.  For  she  must  not  fail  to  help  him,  es- 
pecially after  that  scene  just  now,  else  he  would  believe 
that  she  had  provoked  it  in  order  that  she  might  have 
an  excuse  for  failure — a  thought  she  could  not  bear  in  her 
exhaustless  generosity. 

"To-morrow  morning,"  she  said,  after  a  while. 

"  Early  ?     You  see,  it's  a  debt  of  honor." 

88 


SNOW-FIRE 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  what  he  read  in  them 
made  him  wince. 

"A  debt  of  honor?  Naturally,  that  comes  before  all 
else,"  she  said.  "Honor,  to  be  sure!  You  shall  have 
the  money  early."  And  turning  on  her  heel  she  left  him 
standing  there  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Flieth  the  oar-blade  from  the  wind  that  follows, 
Swings  up  the  stern  on  surges  gray  and  cold, 

Hark  to  the  bows  crash  down  the  roaring  hollows, 
Heave — for  the  Fleece  of  Gold! 

Headland  by  headland  how  they  drop  behind  us, 
The  sea-ridged  shores  barbarian,  rough  with  pines; 

Heave! — for  to-morrow's  wind  no  more  may  find  us, 
Nor  any  sun  that  shines. 

Full  reach  and  heave!    The  furrowing  beneath  ye 
By  will  and  strength  is  yours  to  cleave  and  strow; 

Argo  is  yours  to  drive — the  barque  of  Lethe 
Plies  where  ye  would  not  go. 

Heave,  swing  and  heave!     His  father's  shield  to  sully, 
What  man  at  home  in  dastard  sloth  would  lie, 

Grow  like  the  gourd  along  the  ground,  and  dully 
Ripen  at  ease  and  die? 

Thank  the  High  Gods  that  to  each  heart  have  given 

The  homeless  fire,  and  the  sea-mew's  way 
Trailed  where  the  heights  Promethean,  hoar  and  riven, 

Harrow  the  steeps  of  day. 

Heave! — horn  and  horn  a  brazen  music  blending, 
Flout  the  hushed  northern  feathers,  and  the  cold; 

Leap,  Argo,  leap — and  to  the  cadence  bending, 
Heave — for  the  Fleece  of  Gold! 

The  Song  of  Argo — M.  M. 

SERGE'S  trip  had  not  been  a  pleasant  or  an  agreeable 
one — no  winter  journey  in  Russia  ever  is.  Moreover, 
his  state  of  mind  was  such  that  for  the  first  time  in  his 

90 


SNOW-FIRE 

life  he  seemed  incapable  of  regaining  his  native  insouciance. 
One  consolation  he  had,  and  that  was,  to  have  been,  as  he 
believed,  enabled  to  speak  to  Sacha  before  leaving.  She 
might  not  have  quite  understood  why  he  did  not  make  his 
meaning  clearer,  or  why  he  had  not  explained  where  and  why 
he  was  going.  But  her  evident  emotion  was  proof  enough 
that  she  loved  him,  and  would  anxiously  await  his  return. 
But  Daria — what  of  her?  He  had  written  her  a  few 
hurried  lines  on  the  morning  of  his  departure — semi- 
official lines,  for  she  had  forbidden  him  ever  to  do  other- 
wise, whatever  the  provocation  might  be,  but  following 
a  private  word-code  agreed  upon  long  ago,  he  had  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  assured  her  of  his  undying  fealty, 
and  this  he  now  cruelly  regretted.  What  sort  of  a  weak- 
ling could  he  be  to  yield  to  every  fleeting  feeling  ?  he  asked 
himself  in  disgust,  and  found  no  satisfactory  answer. 
Daria  had  been  irreproachable  in  every  respect — auto- 
cratic, dictatorial,  perhaps  even  tyrannical  at  times  in  her 
tenderness,  but  loyal  and  true  as  women  rarely  are;  and 
so  brilliant  and  witty  and  fascinating.  And  beautiful? 
Yes,  far  more  so  than  Sacha,  so  delicately  pretty  in  her 
pastel-like  coloring.  But  his  feeling  for  Daria  had  been 
a  headlong  passion  that  had  burned  itself  out,  while 
Sacha  he  loved  deeply,  sincerely,  and  steadily,  though  his 
love  was  built  on  ingratitude,  unsteadiness  of  purpose,  and 
wilful  disregard  of  another,  and  perhaps,  in  spite  of  all, 
a  far  better  woman.  His  confession  to  Ye'gor  had  proved 
the  reverse  of  helpful,  for  the  old  man,  while  even  exag- 
gerating for  the  nonce  the  respectful  form  of  his  speech, 
did  not  by  any  means  abate  his  unqualified  disapproval, 
and  pleaded  so  eloquently  for  the  old-time  loyalty  to  the 
given  promise,  that  his  master,  who  wanted  to  be  angry 
with  him,  found  he  could  only  be  uncomfortable  and 
angry  with  himself. 

9» 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  rapid  descent  toward  the  South,  with  its  constant 
change  of  scene  and  climate,  left  him  quite  indifferent,  and 
still  brooding  constantly  over  the  painful  complications 
in  which  he  had  ensnared  himself.  His  mission  he  scarcely 
thought  of,  putting  that  by  in  a  corner  of  his  mind  until 
he  should  have  reached  his  destination,  and  it  was  only 
when  from  the  quay  of  a  little  eastern  port  he  saw  before 
him  the  leaden  waters  of  the  Chernoi  that  he  succeeded, 
after  a  fashion,  in  shaking  himself  together. 

Like  the  sea  the  sky  was  gray  and  lifeless,  as  with 
Ye*gor  and  his  courier  he  boarded  the  boat  that  starts 
from  Odessa  to  meander  all  around  the  eastward  shores, 
and  stop  at  every  place  of  consequence  between  the  great 
grain  city  and  Batoum.  It  was  not  his  first  visit  to  the 
Caucasus,  and  therefore  he  did  not  look  forward  to  it  as 
he  might  have  done  had  he  been  unacquainted  with  those 
magnificent  ranges,  clothed  in  trees  the  equal  of  which 
are  perhaps  to  be  found  nowhere  else  in  that  hemisphere, 
and  beneath  which  dense  undergrowths — masses  of 
gorgeous  wild  azalea  and  rhododendron  bloom — are 
framed  in  endless  thickets  of  box  and  fragrant  laurel. 
He  had  spent  some  delightful  weeks  there  on  one  occasion 
hunting  aurochs  in  the  damp,  tangled  forests,  and  on 
another  had  climbed  after  ibex  to  the  higher  summits  in 
the  company  of  Grand-Duke  Alexander.  Now  his  errand 
was  of  a  very  different  sort — even  more  dangerous  per- 
haps, and  involved  almost  as  much  in  mystery  and  fable 
as  the  Golden  Fleece,  in  quest  of  which  the  oars  of  Hellas 
once  swept  along  this  coast.  Would  he  win  like  Jason, 
or  did  defeat  lurk  for  him  at  the  foot  of  those  glorious 
mountains?  Well,  if  he  failed  it  should  not  be  for  want 
of  trying. 

Here  he  glanced  mechanically  at  the  companions  chance 
had  given  him  on  this  fussy  little  steamer,  screaming  itself 

92 


SNOW-FIRE 

hoarser  and  hoarser  as  the  woolliness  of  the  fog  thickened 
upon  that  inert  sea,  and  laughed.  Jason,  with  Zetes  and 
Calais,  the  winged  sons  of  the  North  Wind,  and  Peleus, 
whose  bride  was  the  silver-footed  sea-nymph,  were  still 
with  him;  and  the  unkempt  men  in  long  kaftans  huddled 
forward,  or  the  aggressively  noisy  tourists  elbowing  each 
other  on  the  inadequate  and  ill-named  promenade  deck, 
struck  a  startling  contrast.  They  smelled  of  sheep,  all 
and  sundry,  he  reflected,  as  though  the  greasy  kaftans  had 
already  infected  the  cheap  ulsters  and  gaudy  plaid  skirts 
of  the  transient  visitors;  and  after  a  while,  sincerely  dis- 
gusted, he  joined  the  squat  little  captain  on  his  narrow 
bridge,  thereby  conferring  upon  him  an  honor  never  to 
be  forgotten.  A  Chevalier- Garde  even  in  undress  uniform 
is  a  rather  imposing  person,  and  the  tiny  crown  on  valises 
and  dressing-case  had  escaped  nobody's  notice  on  board 
the  coaster,  where  even  Ydgor  and  Karz6v,  the  courier,  were 
treated  with  the  reverence  due  their  distinguished  office. 

Travelling  for  his  pleasure !  That  in  itself  sounded  very 
grand  and  splendid,  especially  in  the  case  of  so  young  a 
man;  and,  as  halt  after  halt  was  made,  the  delighted  com- 
mander deferentially  and  untiringly  pointed  out  spots  that 
might  be  of  interest,  neglecting  no  detail  in  his  anxiety 
to  amuse  so  important  a  passenger. 

At  last  the  wearisome  trip  came  to  an  end  in  a  burst 
of  sudden  sunshine  that  made  the  unpretentious  Cau- 
casian port  where  Serge  was  to  disembark  singularly  at- 
tractive. The  air  was  light  and  balmy,  and  impregnated 
with  a  Medean  witchery  of  fragrance  that  he  had  not 
forgotten — something  quite  beyond  analysis,  whether  it 
comes  from  the  trees,  the  herbage,  or  the  rocks  themselves, 
but  instantly  reopening  to  him  a  world  of  past  sensations 
which  under  other  circumstances  would  have  been  very 
pleasant  to  live  again. 

93 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  people  here  belonged  to  vague  nationalities  im- 
possible to  determine  at  first  glance,  but  they  too  seemed 
duly  impressed,  and  Serge  was  instantly  surrounded  by 
an  obsequious  escort  of  volunteers,  all  as  passionately 
eager  to  convey  his  luggage  and  himself  to  the  nearest 
hostelry  as  he  personally  was  to  attract  as  little  attention 
as  possible.  The  town,  set  at  the  entrance  of  a  beautiful 
valley  that  twisted  back  into  the  heights  between  lofty 
crags  covered  with  verdure  from  base  to  summit,  was 
pleasing  to  the  eye;  and  in  the  middle  distance  several 
"Aouls,"  perched  upon  commanding  spurs  of  rock,  pro- 
filed their  squat  and  primitive  battlements  against  masses 
of  evergreens,  but  Serge  did  not  enjoy  the  admirable 
prospect  in  the  least.  He  was  in  an  impatient  mood  now 
that  urged  him  on  and  always  on.  To  fulfil  his  mission, 
and  then  be  at  liberty  to  rush  homeward  faster  even  than 
he  had  come,  was  now  all  his  thought,  and  all  his  desire; 
for  far  back  in  his  mind  drowsed  a  half-formed  conviction 
that  during  his  absence  something  irreparable  would 
happen.  He  could  not  have  explained  why  he  felt  so, 
and  forced  himself  as  far  as  was  in  his  power  to  dismiss  the 
disquieting  suggestion,  but  only  partial  success  rewarded 
his  efforts,  and  when  he  reached  the  Hotel  Cyta  he  was 
utterly  unlike  his  usual  gay  and  good-natured  self. 

Hotel  Cyta !  He  smiled  in  spite  of  his  ill-humor  at  the 
vanity  of  it.  Cyta,  the  royal  city  of  old  Colchis — the 
bourne  of  Argo  and  her  hundred  heroes!  Who  in  the 
world  had  so  gorgeously  christened  this  little  modern  inn — 
overgrown  with  a  tangle  of  leafless  vines  which  later  in 
the  season  would  be  very  ornamental,  no  doubt,  but  now 
made  one  think  merely  of  a  writhing  network  of  snakes  ? 
He  had  purposely  selected  this  unfashionable  and  but 
little  known  village — not  too  distant  to  impede  his  re- 
searches, and  yet  far  enough  from  the  region  where  several 

94 


SNOW-FIRE 

Grand-ducal  villas  nestled  on  the  mountain-side — since 
he  knew  how  important  it  was  not  to  be  recognized  by 
any  distinguished  wanderer  among  these  solitudes. 

Years  had  already  passed  since  the  days  of  the  tragedy 
which  during  a  short  space  had  turned  the  eyes  of  the 
world  upon  that  balmy  Caucasian  nook — a  tragedy  now 
well-nigh  forgotten  save  by  those  who  had  been  con- 
nected with  it.  How  many  remembered,  though,  was 
what  he  had  come  to  find  out,  and  he  did  not  disguise 
from  himself  the  difficulties  of  his  quest.  It  was  a  strange 
story  that  his  "instructions"  had  revealed  to  him  in 
detail.  Although  only  a  boy  when  all  these  things  had 
happened,  he  had  naturally  heard  of  the  stricken  young 
Grand-Duke,  sent  to  the  health-giving  slopes  that  rise 
in  mighty  courses  to  where  the  crest  of  Elburz  towers 
above  the  clouds.  No  one  had  believed  that  he  would 
ever  return  alive  from  the  pretty  chalet,  bowered  in  pines 
and  eucalyptus,  which  had  been  prepared  for  him;  but 
he  seemed  to  drink  in  new  vigor  there;  his  tall,  slender, 
stooping  figure  straightened,  his  pale  face  lost  its  drawn 
look,  and  in  a  little  while  he  had  become  a  different 
being,  full  of  hope  and  returning  energy,  his  deep-blue 
eyes  sparkling  with  the  desire  to  live — only  to  live — 
nothing  more  just  then.  Later,  other  ambition§  would 
suggest  themselves,  but  this  was  not  to  be  for  a  long 
time,  and  meanwhile  he  roamed  over  the  mountains  cease- 
lessly, dressed  in  the  simplest  and  most  convenient  fashion, 
trying  to  forget  rank,  position,  responsibility,  duty,  or 
aught  else  that  might  interfere  with  his  one  aim — the 
search  for  health. 

"I  lead  the  existence  of  a  vegetable,"  he  was  fond  of 
saying,  "and  it  is  an  excessively  enjoyable  one."  How- 
ever, with  increasing  strength  the  existence  of  a  vegetable 
began  to  pall  on  the  ardent  young  spirit,  and,  just  as  easily 

95 


SNOW-FIRE 

as  he  came  to  lengthen  his  walks  in  the  fragrant  dusky 
forest  paths,  the  flight  of  his  thoughts  progressed  in 
gradually  widening  circles  beyond  the  companionship  of 
doctors  and  sick-nurses,  or  even  now  and  then  that  of  a 
visitor  from  home.  He  still  loved  the  grand  loneliness  of 
the  mountains,  but  his  Eden  was  not  yet  quite  perfect. 
It  became  so  when  in  one  of  his  long  rambles  he  met  the 
Eve  of  that  earthly  Paradise — a  girl  of  no  birth  and  little 
education,  but  of  such  beauty  and  grace  that,  with  the 
well-known  susceptibility  of  his  complaint,  he  fell  violently 
in  love  with  her  almost  at  first  sight,  and  held  back  by  no 
consideration,  married  her.  Morganatically  only,  it  is 
true — no  one,  his  parents  least  of  all,  had  the  courage  to 
gainsay  him,  for  they  did  not  believe  in  permanent  re- 
covery, for  him,  and  saw  no  further  than  the  gratifying 
of  a  doomed  man's  fantasy.  It  was  only  later  that  the 
error  of  that  swift  consent  was  realized. 

The  passion  which  he  entertained  for  his  wife  was  in- 
creased when  she  bore  him  a  child,  and  smooth  and  easy 
were  the  months  that  followed,  until  one  day  the  news 
of  his  father's  death  came  brutally  to  awaken  him  from 
his  dream.  He,  the  one  condemned  by  the  medical 
faculties  of  Europe,  felt  now  hale  and  strong,  while  the 
kindly  giant  to  whom  he  had  bidden  au  revoir  only  a  short 
while  ago  was  gone,  and  he  must  make  all  speed  if  he 
would  reach  home  to  see  him  laid  at  rest. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated — to  leave  his  little  family 
alone,  unprotected  by  his  love,  seemed  wrong  to  him. 
Perhaps  he  saw,  also,  the  risk  of  this  rapid  journey  across 
Russia,  already  wrapped  in  autumn  mists  and  rains. 
But  a  clear  duty  was  before  him,  and  heavy-hearted  he 
went,  after  a  sorrowful  parting  from  all  he  cared  for  most 
on  earth. 

Fatigue,  anxiety,  and  grief  had  not  greatly  worn  upon 

96 


SNOW-FIRE 

him  when  he  reached  his  destination,  and  his  whole  family 
assembled  for  the  funeral  wondered  at  his  improved  ap- 
pearance, but  all  was  confusion  in  the  Palace,  and  even 
his  mother  and  sisters  had  no  time  nor  opportunity  to  be 
with  him  much  or  find  out  how  real  and  lasting  this 
marvellous  improvement  might  be.  He  was  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  that  it  should  be  so,  for  night  and 
day  he  lived  in  thought  with  the  girl  and  baby  left  be- 
hind, and  everything  disturbed  him  that  did  not  relate 
to  them.  Indeed,  he  was  already  beginning  to  count  the 
hours  still  separating  him  from  them,  and  knew  no  real 
peace  excepting  when  the  telegrams  which  he  had  arranged 
to  be  sent  daily  brought  him  news  of  their  health  and 
welfare. 

For  the  two  days  preceding  his  father's  funeral  he 
received  no  news  at  all,  and  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
ceremony,  when  he  felt  himself  almost  on  the  verge  of 
nervous  collapse,  a  message  was  handed  to  him  announc- 
ing, without  any  details,  and  in  the  most  curt  and  un- 
feeling manner,  the  sudden  death  of  the  young  mother  and 
her  child. 

Wild  with  horror,  one  thought  alone  survived  in  his 
bewildered  brain,  to  leave  Petersburg  at  once,  alone  if 
need  be,  and  know  all  the  fearful  truth.  A  last  glimmer  of 
reason  advised  him  to  say  nothing  to  anybody,  since  sure- 
ly he  would  be  detained;  so,  dressed  in  plain  clothes,  he 
slipped  out  of  the  Palace,  where  already  the  guests  were 
assembling  for  the  funeral  procession,  drove  in  a  droshky 
to  the  railroad  station  least  likely  to  be  filled  with  arriving 
dignitaries,  and  accompanied  only  by  his  confidential 
valet,  fled  southward. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  offence  given  to  his 
family  by  this  course  of  conduct.  For  many  months  his 
name  was  not  even  pronounced  at  Court,  and  for  his  part, 

97 


SNOW-FIRE 

when  subsequently  matters  were  patched  up  after  a 
fashion,  he  would  not  consent  to  mention  the  cause  of  his 
departure  and  his  headlong  voyage  back  to  the  Caucasus. 
The  whole  affair, in  fact,  was  tacitly  tabooed,  and  no  precise 
details  became  known  to  his  relatives,  or  at  least  none 
sufficiently  circumstantial  to  explain  what  had  happened. 

Very  gradually  the  crushing  effect  of  the  blow  began  to 
disappear.  Indeed,  to  everybody's  surprise  the  Grand- 
Duke's  health  resumed  its  slow  course  of  improvement. 
He  took  up  his  life  again  where  the  thread  had  been  so 
nearly  broken,  formed  new  affections  and  new  ties  in  a 
fashion  less  startling,  but  nearly  as  reckless  as  before, 
and  bade  fair  to  surmount  the  worst  of  his  malady,  when 
suddenly  and  without  the  least  warning  he  was  seized 
with  a  hemorrhage  during  an  excursion  in  the  forest, 
and  died  in  a  few  minutes,  away  from  all  he  loved. 

Since  the  change  of  reign,  disquieting  rumors  had 
several  times  reached  the  Emperor  to  the  effect  that  the 
morganatic  wife  alone  had  succumbed,  and  not  the  baby, 
during  the  young  husband's  absence;  and  since  the  laws 
of  succession  are  peculiar  in  the  Giant-Empire,  and  the 
existence  of  this  child  might  under  certain  circumstances 
become  a  cause  of  serious  discord,  careful  search  had  been 
made,  but  so  far  without  result.  All  proof  of  either  the 
single  or  double  death  seemed  to  have  been  effaced,  and 
overburdened  by  the  cares  of  his  turbulent  realm,  and  the 
ever-renewed  machinations  of  the  Nihilists,  the  Sovereign 
had  been  forced  to  cease  vexing  himself  about  the  secret 
hidden  in  the  far-off  Caucasus.  Shortly  before  the  time, 
however,  when  Grand-Duchess  Stepan  and  Serge  Urlansky 
had  entered  upon  their  period  of  complications,  the  rumors 
concerning  the  dead  man's  little  heir  had  recommenced; 
and,  asked  by  his  aunt  to  despatch  Serge  on  some  distant 
mission,  the  Tsar  had  elected  to  try  whether  his  young 

98 


SNOW-FIRE 

intelligence  might  not  perhaps  achieve  what  older  and 
more  diplomatically  trained  wits  had  failed  to  do. 

The  problem  of  finding  the  lost  trail — of  ascertaining 
whether  the  child  still  lived  or  not,  when  it  was  to  the 
interest  of  so  many  to  make  a  constant  threat  of  this 
hidden  existence,  was  no  slight  one;  and  Serge  felt  him- 
self obliged  to  relegate  his  personal  interests  and  inclina- 
tions to  the  background  so  as  to  reserve  all  his  talents  and 
energy  for  the  work  in  hand.  Patiently  he  took  up  the 
daily  task  of  delving  into  the  past,  gathering  here  and 
there  scraps  of  information  which  meant  very  little  singly, 
but  when  grouped  together  might  lead  him  to  the  truth. 
He  travelled  hither  and  thither,  sometimes  on  horseback, 
sometimes  on  foot;  sometimes  alone — when  the  faithful 
Yegor  had  been  entrusted  by  him  with  a  quest  on  parallel 
lines — at  one  moment  using  to  the  best  advantage  the 
privileges  of  his  rank,  at  another  again  going  about 
dressed  as  a  mountaineer  and  mixing  with  the  people  like 
an  equal. 

He  was  growing  interested  in  this  mission  which  at  first 
had  been  so  distasteful,  and  in  the  dead  Prince  of  whom 
he  heard  so  much  that  was  good.  "  Ah,  he  was  one  to  be 
loved,"  a  very  old  man  once  said  to  Serge.  "  Nobody 
ever  appealed  to  his  pity  in  vain — he  gave  and  gave — oh, 
all  he  had,  I  think — and  so  gentle  and  simple,  just  like 
one  of  us."  Surely  somebody  could  be  found,  thought 
the  Tsar's  emissary,  who  knew  what  had  occurred,  and 
who  could  be  brought  to  understand  that  no  evil  was  in- 
tended to  the  child — if  the  child  still  lived. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  thought  of  Sacha  waltzing  her 
way  through  the  gayeties  of  her  first  season,  Serge  might 
have  come  to  greatly  enjoy  the  free  existence  of  the 
mountains.  The  weather  was  now  delightful;  every  tree 
in  bud,  every  thicket  a  mass  of  wild  blossoms  of  sur- 
8  99 


SNOW-FIRE 

prising  size  and  beauty,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  air  a 
constant  intoxication.  How  he  longed  to  show  all  this 
loveliness  to  Sacha — yes,  he  actually  decided  to  bring  her 
here  on  their  wedding-trip — for  solitude  had  worked  its 
charm  and  now  Sacha  alone  held  his  heart.  Of  Daria 
he  seldom  thought,  excepting  when  Yegor,  who  continued 
to  persist  in  speaking  about  her,  brought  the  ever-decreas- 
ing pain  of  remembrance  to  his  mind.  She  would  soon 
console  herself,  he  conveniently  argued.  He  had  heard 
many  stories  about  her  inconstancies,  and  as  his  jealousy 
disappeared  he  found  it  more  and  more  comforting  to 
believe  in  them;  they  gave  him  a  sort  of  right  to  be  in- 
constant too !  An  older  head  or  a  truer  heart  would  have 
judged  these  rumors  at  their  real  value;  as  it  was,  they  en- 
abled him  to  cling  to  the  delicious  shadow  of  his  new  love, 
neglecting  the  great  prize  that  had  been  his.  If  only  he 
could  have  corresponded  with  some  one  in  St.  Petersburg, 
his  burden  would  have  been  lighter,  but  since  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  on  his  estates,  and  could  trust  no  one  im- 
plicitly, he  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with  the 
dream:  building  his  pretty  romance,  arranging  his  future 
life  bit  by  bit  as  a  child  does  a  castle  of  cards,  never 
troubling  as  to  how  slight  a  breath  may  destroy  it. 

One  evening  he  was  sitting  on  the  balcony  of  his  room 
at  a  small  inn  away  up  in  the  foot-hills,  where  he  and 
Ye"gor  had  arrived  in  the  morning,  leaving  the  courier 
behind  them  at  their  first  landing-place.  Below  the 
terrace-like  projection  whereon  the  log  house  stood — for 
although  more  pretentious  than  the  ordinary  dwelling  of 
the  mountaineer  it  was  nevertheless  a  very  plain  and 
homely  affair — wave  over  wave  of  delicate  new  verdure 
foamed  down  the  sides  of  the  precipices  to  the  valley, 
parting  here  and  there  where  a  boisterous  waterfall  toppled 
over  the  rocks  in  a  snowy  froth  netted  with  diamonds. 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun,  piercing  obliquely  through  the 
trees,  lined  every  leaf  with  pale  gold,  and,  scarce  silvered 
as  yet  on  the  faint  azure  of  the  sky,  a  sickle  moon  balanced 
itself  roguishly  above  a  line  of  bare  peaks  eccentrically 
profiled  against  the  high  horizon. 

He  had  tramped  all  day  long  through  the  woods,  follow- 
ing a  clew  which  for  the  first  time  promised  to  lead — 
perhaps — to  something  tangible  and  satisfactory.  Some- 
where beyond  that  chain  of  peaks — or  so  he  had  been  told 
— an  old  castle  was  hidden  away,  and  there  a  child,  whom 
none  ever  saw  but  of  whom  many  had  heard,  was  kept 
prisoner.  Why,  and  for  what  purpose,  his  informant 
did  not  know,  but  Serge  intended  to  find  out  if  it  could 
be  done  at  all ;  and  even  now  his  active  brain  was  laboring 
hard,  in  spite  of  his  bodily  fatigue,  over  the  means  best 
calculated  to  bring  the  enterprise  to  a  successful  end. 
A  more  suspicious  and  farouche  breed  of  people  than  the 
few  inhabitants  scattered  among  those  lonely  and  well- 
nigh  unexplored  ranges  he  knew  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find,  and  this  "important  detail,"  as  he  termed  it,  far 
from  cooling  his  new-born  ardor,  gave  zest  to  the  under- 
taking, since  it  added  a  decided  spice  of  danger. 

Right  beneath  the  clumsy  wooden  balcony  a  quantity 
of  curious  early  wild  flowers  were  blossoming.  Their 
vanilla-like  perfume,  increased  at  the  sunset  hour,  rose  in 
such  delicious  waves  of  incense  toward  him  that  he  bent 
over  the  low  railing  to  breathe  it  in  more  deeply.  Over 
the  pinkish-mauve  masses  a  cloud  of  microscopic  butter- 
flies airily  struggled  and  danced  like  animated  shreds  of 
the  sky,  so  softly  blue  were  they,  and  Serge  fell  to  ponder- 
ing over  the  quaint  Russian  superstitions  relating  to  that 
graceful  fluttering  life.  All  over  the  Muscovite  Empire 
butterflies  are  the  accepted  presentments  of  the  human 
soul,  freed  from  the  body  and  condemned  to  remain  for 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  space  earth-bound,  and  he  could  not  help  thinking  that 
if  this  were  really,  so  some  desperate  encounter  must  have 
taken  place  in  the  past  about  the  little  inn — a  supposition 
that  in  itself  had  nothing  strange  in  a  land  blood-drenched 
for  so  many  centuries. 

"They  look  innocent  for  warriors'  ghosts,"  a  voice  said 
at  his  elbow,  and  turning  brusquely  he  saw  Ye*gor  with  the 
coffee — the  tray  in  one  hand  and  his  cap  in  the  other. 
"  But  still,  my  heart's  master,  that's  what  they  are  all 
the  same." 

Serge,  who  had  been  quite  disposed  to  fall  in  with  this 
idea,  laughed  derisively,  now  that  it  was  directly  proposed 
to  him. 

"Warriors'  ghosts!"  he  mocked.  "Those  little  scraps 
of  waltzing  blue  velvet  that  will  not  live  till  morning?" 

"  Pardon,  Excellency,"  Ye*gor  contradicted.  "  They 
will  live  for  a  very .  long  time — until  their  punishment 
comes  to  an  end." 

"  The  punishment  does  not  appear  very  terrible — a  pair 
of  gauze  wings  and  a  bed  of  flowers  to  hover  over  might 
be  considered  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,"  the  old  servant  replied.  "  A  pair 
of  angel's  wings  before  the  Throne  of  God  would  be 
better";  here  he  crossed  himself  devoutly.  "Anyhow, 
these  are  decent  souls,  else  they  would  have  the  forms  of 
ugly  drab  moths  or  even  of  green  flies.  Now  the  souls  of 
witches  and  sorcerers — ' 

"Oh,  come!"  Serge  protested.  "That  is  going  too  far. 
Besides,  there  are  very  pretty  moths,  while  an  emerald- 
green  fly  is  beautiful,  absolutely  beautiful." 

Yegor,  who  had  put  down  his  tray  on  a  wooden  stool, 
failing  better  accommodation,  raised  his  bushy  eyebrows 
until  they  almost  touched  his  gray  hair.  "When  you 
were  a  little  child,"  he  said,  severely,  "you  were  not  an 

IO2 


SNOW-FIRE 

unbeliever.  You  used  to  like  me  to  carry  you  up  and  down 
the  rooms  at  dusk  and  have  me  tell  you  about  such  things; 
but  now  you  only  laugh,  which  is  not  a  good  sign  and 
brings  no  luck  at  all,  I  promise  you." 

Serge  glanced  at  the  perturbed  face  of  his  retainer  and 
smiled  affectionately.  "  Don't  be  angry,  my  old  friend," 
he  said,  in  his  winning,  impulsive  way.  "  I  dare  say  there 
is  wisdom  in  these  old  beliefs.  And  now  sit  down  here 
by  me  and  tell  me  if  you  have  discovered  anything 
about  the  mysterious  castle." 

"I  can  speak  standing,"  the  still  offended  Ye'gor  an- 
swered, "  and  your  coffee  is  getting  cold,  which  is  a  pity, 
because  I  made  it  myself,  and  it  is  not  bad.  One  can  get 
no  proper  attention  in  this  booth  of  a  place." 

Serge,  bent  on  placating  him,  instantly  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  steaming  beverage  and  patiently  awaited 
his  servant's  pleasure. 

"  Don't  you  smoke  to-night?"  Ye'gor  began,  determined 
to  find  fault  with  his  hero.  "  It  would  keep  the  damp 
out  of  your  lungs  in  this  land  of  wet  thickets  and  water- 
falls." 

Serge  drew  from  a  side-pocket  a  tobacco  pouch  worked 
in  seed-pearls  on  a  ground  of  golden  threads  and  hastily 
rolled  a  cigarette.  "You  old  grump,"  he  said,  tossing 
the  exquisite  trifle  on  the  table.  "Are  you  satisfied 
now?" 

"  Not  altogether,"  Ye'gor  severely  responded,  holding  a 
burning  match  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  "  Not  alto- 
gether, while  you  throw  our  dear  Lady's  gifts  around  like 
that."  He  dropped  the  extinguished  match  to  the  blue 
butterflies  below,  took  up  the  tobacco  pouch,  and  anx- 
iously examined  it  to  see  if  it  had  taken  harm  from  its 
contact  with  the  coarse  earthenware  coffee-pot.  "It's 
like  your  ring,  that  I  found  this  morning  at  the  bottom  of 

103 


SNOW-FIRE 

your  knapsack  with  your  hob -nailed  boots.  Is  that  a 
reasonable  jewel-safe?  Here  it  is  now,"  he  concluded, 
drawing  respectfully  from  an  inner  pocket  a  broad,  heavy 
band  of  dull  gold,  imbedding  one  large  engraved  sapphire, 
deep  and  luminous.  "  You  had  best  put  it  on." 

Serge  frowned  a  little.  "  Put  it  on  with  this  costume, 
and  let  every  one  know  that  we  are  not  the  humble 
travellers  that  we  pass  ourselves  for?  Keep  it  yourself, 
and  out  of  sight,  please." 

Y6gor  was  looking  at  the  ring,  his  suddenly  saddened 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  interlaced  initials  inside  the  golden 
circlet.  "  You  will  not  listen,"  he  said,  in  a  lowered  voice, 
tense  with  emotion;  "you  will  take  no  warning,  and  yet 
there  is  still  time  to  undo  what  you  have  done.  Oh, 
my  dear  master,  don't  wait  until  too  late!" 

Serge  rose  angrily.  "This  is  insufferable,  Ye*gor!" 
he  exclaimed,  flinging  away  the  half-smoked  cigarette. 
"  Croak,  croak,  croak  like  an  old  raven ! — that's  what  you 
do  all  day  long.  I'm  getting  tired  of  it.  And  what  for, 
after  all?  Because  I  told  you  that  I  wanted  to  reg- 
ularize my  life.  Has  it  been  such  a  model  one  that  it 
needs  no  improvement?"  He  paused,  already  half 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  said,  and,  unwilling  to  meet  the 
thunderbolts  of  Yegor's  indignant  eyes,  gazed  moodily 
over  the  balcony-edge  at  the  darkening  forest.  Then,  as 
the  silence  remained  unbroken,  he  turned  wrathfully  to 
find  Y6gor  staring  at  him  in  a  frightened  way  as  if  he  had 
heard  a  sacrilege. 

"  Well  ?  Is  there  anything  extraordinary  in  what  I  say  ? 
Do  you  think  it  right  to  love  another  man's  wife,  then?" 

Still  Ye"gor  spoke  no  word.  Once,  twice  he  drew  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat  across  his  brow  where  a  little  moisture 
had  gathered;  and  Serge  began  to  feel  extremely  un- 
comfortable. 

104 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Speak,  man!"  he  commanded,  harshly.  "Having 
reached  this  point,  we  might  as  well  thresh  the  matter 
out  and  have  done  with  it  once  for  all.  Can't  you  say 
something?" 

"  No,  my  master,  you  are  right.  I  have  presumed  too 
far  as  it  is.  Who  am  I  to  lay  down  the  law  to  a  great  lord 
like  you?  Suffer  me  to  remain  silent  now  and  afterward, 
since  I  am  doing  more  evil  than  good." 

"  No,  I  want  to  have  your  real  reason  for  acting  as  you 
do!"  Serge  exclaimed.  "You  adore  the  Grand-Duchess, 
I  know,  but  you  love  me  still  better,  and  yet  you  wish  me 
to  remain  for  the  rest  of  my  life  in  an  unlawful  position 
that  passion  alone  excused — while  it  lasted.  You  are  not 
an  ordinary  man,  Ye"gor;  moreover,  you  have  brought  me 
up.  I've  told  you  often  enough  I  realize  that  you  are  my 
best  friend,  so  don't  be  afraid  to  offend  me  even  if  I  did 
seem  angry  just  now.  Go  ahead." 

"  If  you  command,  I  must  obey,"  Ye"gor  said,  slowly. 
"But  I  can  tell  you  nothing  that  J  have  not  told  you 
many,  many  times.  Perhaps  you  are  right  when  you 
speak  of  loving  another  man's  wife — that  none  can  think 
well  of,  but  is  your  case  and  Her  Imperial  Highness's  like 
other  cases?  I  have  known  her  ever  since  she  came  to 
us  a  beautiful  young  bride,  and  I  know — I  know — she 
has  cried  many  tears,  tears  bitter  as  salt.  You  want  to 
make  her  weep  more  and  bitterer  ones.  Why,  my  young 
master?  Because  you  have  met  a  new  love,  a  pretty 
lass  who  will  feed  your  spirit  on  rose-leaves  and  lilies  now, 
but —  He  stopped  sharply,  then  hurried  on,  his  old  face 
quivering  with  excitement.  "What  has  she  ever  done 
for  you  that  you  should  break  our  Highness's  heart  on 
her  account?  Smiled  and  blushed  and  looked  innocent, 
while  the  Grand-Duchess  has  been  friend,  sister,  mother, 
and  all  in  all  to  you — yes,  mother  too,  and  that's  where 


SNOW-FIRE 

she  was  wrong!  They  say  she  is  hard  and  has  no  heart, 
but  I  have  seen  her  when  you  broke  your  leg  two  years 
gone,  and  they  can't  tell  me  such  things  of  her.  She's 
not  the  wife  of  another — not  that — you  know  it  well 
yourself.  She  and  he  have  lived  apart  for  years,  many 
years — and  by  his  own  will,  hear  you,  my  master?  We 
of  the  servants'  hall  are  expected  to  see  nothing,  under- 
stand nothing;  but  it  is  not  so — since  we  have  eyes  and 
ears  and  a  little  wit — not  much  perhaps,  but  still  a  little. 
Myself  I  heard  once  the  Grand -Duke  saying  to  your 
Excellency's  noble  father  that  he  had  made  himself  free, 
and  had  bidden  his  wife  choose  her  own  road  to — -well, 
there's  no  use  repeating  the  manner  of  place  he  spoke  of. 
I  remember  what  I  thought  at  the  time,  while  kneeling  to 
buckle  on  my  master's  spurs — of  course  they  did  not 
remember  that  I  was  there,  and  even  if  they  had  they 
would  have  gone  on  just  in  the  same  way,  because  I  was 
then  to  your  father  what  I  am  to  yourself  to-day,  my 
master — merely  a  devoted  'soul.'" 

"And  what  did  my  father  say?"  Serge  asked,  quickly. 
He  was  keenly  interested  now. 

"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,"  Ye"gor  answered.  "  Your 
Nobility  recalls  how  he  used  to  do  that  when  he  had 
contempt  for  something  or  some  one ;  and  just  like  this — 
with  his  eyes  crinkled  a  little — he  looked  at  the  Grand- 
Duke  standing  there,  tall  as  a  tree  and  handsome — the 
Saints  know  he  was  handsome  to  the  damnation  of  his 
hope  of  Paradise,  and  that  of  many  others!  'You 
may  regret  it  yet,'  he  said,  and  Stepan-Petrovich  grinned 
his  coldest  and  evilest.  'Not  while  I  have  fresh  fields 
to  conquer,  not  I ' ;  that's  his  very  reply.  Fresh  fields  to 
conquer!  He  kept  his  word  too,  and  she  at  first  stayed 
away  in  France  somewhere  in  the  South,  then  when  she 
came  back  they  began  to  mutter  about  her  being  a 

106 


SNOW-FIRE 

gambler  and  a  woman  without  a  soul.  What  did  they 
know  of  her?  Nothing — nothing — or  why  she  tried  to 
kill  her  thoughts  at  the  card-tables.  They  said  worse, 
much  worse  than  that —  '  the  old  servant  whispered, 
drawing  closer  to  his  master.  "  But  the  lies  should  have 
been  nailed  in  their  throats.  We  of  the  great  households 
know  most  things  that  pass,  and  I  can  swear  that  until  she 
met  you,  Serge- Andr&tch — !"  Again  he  paused,  and 
Serge,  his  face  turned  to  the  velvety  twilight,  moved  un- 
easily in  his  rough  pine-branch  chair. 

"No  heart.  No  soul!"  Yegor  grumbled  on  to  himself. 
"Too  much  of  both,  more  likely,  but  because  she  does 
not  cry  out  when  she's  hurt,  or  faint,  or  beg  for  pity,  she's 
called  hard  bad  names —  His  voice  dropped  altogether. 
Far  away  in  the  woods  the  hooting  of  an  owl  could  be 
heard  through  the  silence. 

Serge  drew  a  long  unsteady  breath  and  turned  around. 
"  But  what  can  I  do,  Y£gor  ?  I  love  the  other — Princess 
Sacha.  Don't  you  understand,  I  love  her?  I— I  can't 
live  without  her." 

"Yes — yes,  I  know,"  Y£gor  muttered.  "It  twists  the 
heart  at  first,  but  passes  away  with  time — with  time — and 
the  honor  of  the  given  word  remains  whole."  He  drew 
closer  still,  and  gently  touching  his  master's  arm,  began 
to  speak  softly,  tenderly,  as  when  twenty  years  before 
he  had  been  called  upon  to  console  some  childish  grief. 
"Time,  my  young  master,  it  cures  every  ill  but  remorse. 
Your  servant  is  ignorant  how  to  speak  the  words  that 
impress,  but  his  old  age  would  be  shamed  if  you  ceased 
to  think  of  that.  If  it  be  your  fate  to  wed  the  other — 
be  easy — you  cannot  avoid  it.  But  let  Fate  bring  it 
about,  not  you,  my  child,  not  you!" 

The  sickle  moon,  dazzlingly  bright  now,  had  risen  high 
above  the  great  mountain  chain — that  mere  wrinkle  upon 

107 


SNOW-FIRE 

the  face  of  our  hard  old  earth,  grimly  revolving  onward 
toward  a  new  day. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Serge  said,  wearily,  "  why  all  this 
misery  has  come  to  me.  Is  it  just?  Perhaps.  Or  is 
nothing  just,  after  all  ?  She  offered  to  let  me  go,  and  I 
had  not  the  pluck  to  accept.  I  had  been  vile  to  her  just 
before;  I  had  tried  to  taunt  her  with  her  past,  and  she 
had  denied  nothing — " 

Yegor's  fingers  dropped  from  Serge's  sleeve,  and  in  the 
silvery  radiance  his  face  shone  white.  "You  had  done 
that?"  he  asked,  unbelievingly. 

"  Yes — she  was  angry,  but  she  denied  nothing." 

A  grim  smile  hovered  on  the  lips  of  the  wise  old  man. 

"When,"  he  asked,  "has  a  woman  disliked  to  see  her 
lover — a  very  young  lover — grow  jealous?  We  poor 
people  call  that  'throwing  pine-cones  into  a  dying  fire."1 

Serge  leaped  to  his  feet  and  confronted  his  extraor- 
dinary servitor.  "  Good  God !"  he  cried.  "  Can  that  have 
been  the  motive?" 

"  How  could  she  know  that  you  were  only  searching  for 
an  excuse?"  came  in  swift  response,  and  Serge  felt  the 
blood  mount  to  his  face. 

"More,"  Ye*gor  continued,  "she  would  never  stoop  to 
defend  herself — she  is  not  of  that  breed.  When  our 
Little  Father  was  so  wroth  with  Anton-Stepanovich,  did 
she  plead  for  her  own  flesh  and  blood? — the  son  whom 
she  is  so  proud  of,  and  who  won  the  Cross  of  St.  George 
in  the  war  against  those  little  devils — upon  whom  may 
a  curse  lie!  No,  no!  She  went  on  smiling  as  before,  a 
little  more  perhaps.  Was  it  not  she  who  took  up  the 
cause  of  the  other,  whose  child  we  are  seeking  now? 
Everybody  blamed  her,  but  she  didn't  care  a  skein  of 
flax;  she  came  down  here  to  console  him.  I've  seen  her, 
with  these  old  eyes,  stand  quiet  and  proud  while  Stepan 

1 08 


SNOW-FIRE 

Petrovich  at  a  royal  wedding  treated  the  company  to 
one  of  his  worst  freaks  —  he'd  been  drinking,  it's  true, 
but  that  couldn't  make  it  look  better  in  anybody's  eyes, 
could  it?" 

"  Hold  on!"  Serge  cried,  suddenly.  "  Did  you  say  that 
she  came  here  to  console  her  nephew?" 

"  Assuredly.     And  with  one  and  all  telling  her  not  to  do 
so." 
"Ah!" 

"  What  now,  my  master — what  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?" 
"I  can't  tell  yet,"  Serge  said,  slowly.     "But  do  you 
think  he  might  have  told  her  the  whole  truth — about  those 
deaths,  I  mean?" 

Ydgor  shook  his  gray  head.  "That,"  he  pronounced, 
"  none  can  guess.  There  had  been  ugly  rumors — of — of  a 
crime.  Vassili,  her  confidential  courier,  told  me  she 
would  not  believe  it  to  be  true;  and  then  she  came." 

The  night  had  completely  fallen;  veil  by  veil  wrapping 
the  trees  in  superposed  sable  gauzes.     Only  the  crest  of 
the  mountains  showed  sharply  against  the  luminous  sky. 
"  If  one  but  knew!"  Serge  murmured. 
"One  always  knows  when  there's  a  duty,"  the  sage  be- 
side him  said,  softly.     "  You  have  yours  to  perform  here 
before  everything  else." 

Again  there  was  silence  so  deep  that  the  multitudinous 
little  waterfalls  beneath  the  leaves  seemed  almost  dis- 
agreeably loud. 

"  I  will  promise  you  one  thing,  Ye'gor,"  Serge  said,  sud- 
denly. "  If  Fate  does  not  intervene,  I  will  not  force  it  to 
do  so." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Though  pride  denies,  yet  would  I  linger  near, 
Waiting  if  haply  tidings  I  could  hear. 

M.  M. 

THE  cold  yellow  moon,  hanging  directly  above  the 
gleaming  ice-hills,  seemed  to  grin  derisively  at  the  Tout 
Petersbourg  disporting  itself  in  and  about  the  transparent 
palace — built  of  huge  frozen  blocks  and  lighted  by  thou- 
sands of  colored  globes — where  one  of  the  Neva's  great 
winter  fe"tes  was  in  progress.  Fur-clad  servants  rushed 
constantly  in  and  out  of  the  huge  structure,  carrying 
glasses  of  boiling  tea  and  punch,  which  if  not  swallowed 
at  once  became  almost  immediately  solid ;  and  around  the 
tall  tripods  bearing  flaming  braziers  groups  of  guests 
eager  to  snatch  a  breath  of  heat  formed  and  dispersed,  to 
be  at  once  replaced  by  other  seekers  after  warmth. 

The  coup  d'oeil  was  certainly  enchanting,  for  Russians 
are  never  behindhand  when  luxurious  display  is  the 
order,  and  here  the  illuminations  alone  were  a  master- 
piece of  taste.  A  color-scheme  had  been  devised — noth- 
ing but  delicate  pinks  and  soft  yellows — the  pink  in 
clusters  like  great  round  clasps  upon  strand  after  strand 
of  little  pale  golden  moons,  that  seemed  shepherded  by  the 
real  one  shining  above  in  the  cold  indigo  of  the  sky. 
Music  too  there  was  in  plenty,  drifting  through  the  wide- 
open  windows  of  the  dazzling  little  private  kiosks  that 
punctuated  the  ice  in  every  direction,  and  stealing  in 
harmonic  waves  from  the  central  attraction  of  the  crystal- 


SNOW-FIRE 

line  palace.  The  Emperor  was  expected  later,  and  if  the 
Empress's  health — always  delicate — permitted,  she  would 
accompany  him. 

Meanwhile,  as  Countess  Dermetchieff  had  just  re- 
marked, the  iron-bound  surface  of  the  river  was  already 
coruscated  with  Grand- Dukes  and  Duchesses  (not  to  men- 
tion hosts  of  secondary  personages)  skating  to  and  fro  and 
shedding  the  glory  of  their  noble  presences  upon  the  grati- 
fied constellations  of  lesser  lights.  Madame  Dermet- 
chieff, who  no  longer  skated,  was  just  then  making  a 
tour  of  the  "ball-room,"  and  nodding  her  approval  of 
its  original  and  befitting  decoration.  "  They  have  had 
the  sense,"  she  was  saying  to  a  General  Aide-de-Camp,  who 
was  also  an  old  courtier  of  hers,  "  to  spare  us  tropical 
vegetation  here.  Even  if  real  it  always  clashes,  and  it 
makes  one  shudder  to  think  what  the  delirious  fancy  of  a 
modern  decorator  might  have  prepared  for  us  in  the 
shape  of  what  they  engagingly  call  '  imitations  surpassing 
nature.'" 

The  tall  grizzled  soldier  at  her  side  laughed.  "  Toujours 
la  meme,"  he  commented.  "  If  ever  a  woman  remained 
unchanged,  that  woman  is  yourself,  Prascovia-Pavlovna. 
You  are  to-day  exactly  what  you  were  when  all  we  young 
officers  of  the  Guard  were  crowding  in  your  train." 

"Measure  your  expressions,  my  friend,"  she  smiled. 
"  All  the  officers  of  the  Guard  is  rather  a  big  order." 

"  Nonsense ;  we  were  only  a  portion — a  small  portion — 
of  your  victims." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  absolutely  insist  on  hinting  that 
I — how  shall  we  put  it  to  be  decorous? — threw  my  cap 
over  the  windmills?  No,  that's  translated  from  the 
French;  well  then,  let  me  try  the  good  old  sporting  ex- 
pression, 'kicked  high  over  the  traces.'" 

"  I  hint  that  you —  ?"  the  astonished  General  exclaimed. 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Certainly.  Didn't  you  amiably  explain  to  Sacha 
Virianow  a  while  ago  that  real  gayety  and  lightsomeness 
no  longer  exist  to-day;  adding,  so  as  to  leave  no  possible 
doubt  on  the  subject  in  her  mind,  that  these  qualities  were 
once  embodied  in  my  humble  person,  and  that  I  spared 
neither  the  hearts  nor  the  heads  of  a  legion  of  admirers?" 

"But,  it  is  true!" 

"What!  That  I  drove  a  sort  of  Juggernaut  car  of 
triumph  over  the  male  population  of  St.  Petersburg?" 

"Exactly;  although  I  would  not  have  expressed  it  just 
like  that.  The  women  of  this  degenerate  day — it  is 
degenerate,  you  must  admit — lack  the  charm  and  seduc- 
tiveness of  yours.  A  patent  fact — incontrovertible,  ab- 
solutely. There  are  no  real  great -ladies  among  the 
younger  generation." 

"  Hm-m-m.  Does  not  even  that  bijou  of  a  Sacha  find 
grace  in  your  eyes?" 

"  Sacha- Basilic vna  ?  A  little  beauty  assuredly,  and 
remarkably  distinguished  and  refined  for  these  decadent 
times,  I  confess ;  but — but — but  not  qu-i-te  perfect.  More- 
over, she  will  bring  bad  luck  to  any  man  who  loves  her — 
I  feel  pretty  certain  of  it." 

Madame  Dermetchieff  gave  a  little  start.  "  Bad  luck!'' 
she  cried.  "What  in  the  world  do  you  mean,  Yefime 
Nikolaitch,  by  saying  such  dreadful  things?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  startled  you,  my  dear  Prascovia 
Pavlovna,"  the  General  humbly  apologized,  "but  I  am 
entirely  in  earnest.  Your  pretty  young  friend  is  one  of 
those  whom  it  is  not  well  to  love.  There  are  such  beings, 
you  know,  who  bring  mischance,  though  often  through 
no  fault  of  their  own." 

For  a  moment  the  Countess's  beautiful  old  face  re- 
mained clouded.  "  I  should  hate  to  think  you  were 
right,"  she  said,  slowly,  "for  I  am  afraid  my  nephew 


SNOW-FIRE 

Urlansky  —  Serge,  you  know,  my  favorite  —  is  greatly 
smitten  with  her." 

"Since  when?"  General  Neriguine  inquired,  incredu- 
lously. 

"Oh,  since  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  I  judge.  At 
least  that  is  when  I — and  others — seem  to  have  taken 
notice  of  a  mutual  attraction." 

"And  tell  me,  Prascovia-Pavlovna,  how  do  you — and 
the  others — look  upon  the  prospect  of  an  understanding 
between  these  two  extremely  good-looking  young  people  ?" 

Madame  Dermetchieff  drew  out  her  lorgnette  with  an 
impatient  little  jerk  of  its  long  jewelled  chain,  and  gazed 
with  sudden  interest  at  the  clump  of  tall  pine-trees  and 
silvered  fir  branches  that  filled  in  the  corner  before  which 
they  had  paused.  "  Really,"  she  remarked,  "  this  sombre 
style  of  decoration  is  very — oh,  but  you  were  asking  me 
about  Serge's  little  flirtation!" 

"Flirtation?"  asked  the  General.  "That  is  not  quite 
what  you  said.  Remember  that  flirtation  means  atten- 
tion without  intention." 

"  I  know.  It  can  be  little  more  than  a  flirtation  though 
— and  by  the  way,  you  will  do  me  a  favor,  Ye'fime-Nik- 
olaitch,  if  you  will  keep  what  I  said  to  you  a  while  ago 
entirely  to  yourself.  We  do  not  want  to  seek  another 
rhyme  for  flirtation — complication,  for  instance." 

The  General  bowed.  "  I  shall  be  mute,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  as  a  fish ;  but  I  hear  the  strains  of  our  depressing  national 
hymn  oozing  from  every  crevice — are  'They'  in  sight?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Let  us  go  and  find  out,"  she  eagerly 
proposed,  as  if^only  too  glad  of  a  chance  to  escape  from 
the  subject,  and  in  a  moment  the  handsome  old  pair  had 
passed  out  of  the  ice  palace  upon  the  frozen  river.  The 
shrill  song  of  the  skates  had  ceased,  and  between  rows  of 
momentarily  immobilized  pleasure-seekers  a  shell-shaped 

"3 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

white  sleigh  lined  with  turquoise-blue  velvet  was  being 
pushed  forward  by  two  court  lackeys  in  long  fur  coats. 
Leaning  back  on  the  cushions  and  muffled  to  the  chin  in 
ermine  was  the  Empress,  while  beside  her  walked  the 
Emperor  and  Grand-Duke  Stepan,  both  wearing  Cossack 
uniforms. 

"A  tour  or  two  is  all  she  will  indulge  in,"  commented 
Madame  Dermetchieff .  "  See  how  pale  she  is,  and  how 
anxiously  the  Tsar  looks  at  her." 

"Any  one  would  look  pale  in  all  that  ermine,"  General 
Neriguine  returned.  "But  it  seems  too  bad  for  her  to 
try  and  accompany  him  everywhere,  when  she  is  so  broken 
in  health." 

"  She  considers  it  her  duty." 

"  Yes,  naturally — thinks  that  it  ensures  his  safety,  of 
course,  although  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  does  nothing  of  the 
sort;  and  he  is  twice  as  easy  in  mind  and  more  to  his 
advantage  when  she  is  not  there.  But  who's  to  tell 
her?" 

"Somebody  did  so  long  ago  to  her  cost,"  Madame 
Dermetchieff  murmured. 

"Grand-Duchess  Stepan?" 

"Yes;  but  how  did  you  know?" 

"Who  else  would  have  dared  even  that?" 

"Nobody,  it  goes  without  saying,"  she  admitted, 
"  excepting  that  bravest  of  the  brave,  Daria-Mikaelovna. 
The  Tsaritza  never  forgave  her,  I  think." 

The  glittering  little  pageant  was  now  skirting  the  ice 
bastions  of  the  Central  Palace,  followed  and  flanked  by 
skating  courtiers  skimming  gracefully  on  the  mirror-like 
surface  of  the  great  frozen  stream.  Further  on,  the 
constant  screech  of  the  tiny  sleds  shooting  like  bullets 
down  the  sides  of  the  artificial  ice-hills  indicated  the  one 
spot  where  real  gayety  was  to  be  found,  for  Russians  are 

114 


SNOW-FIRE 

adventurous  people,  and  this  form  of  amusement  with 
its  serious  risks  and  violent  emotions  keenly  appeals  to 
them. 

"Come  and  see  the  Montagnes-Russes,"  the  General 
suggested,  using  the  universally  accepted  French  term 
that  is  employed  to  designate  even  the  wood-and-plaster 
imitations  of  the  real  thing  which  one  encounters  at 
village  fairs  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other.  "All 
the  young  people  are  sure  to  be  there,  and  I  love  young 
people." 

"So  do  I,"  she  heartily  assented,  moving  on  with  sin- 
gular lightness  in  spite  of  the  clumsy  fur-lined  velvet 
boots  that  must  be  worn  to  avoid  frozen  toes,  but  are 
decidedly  hostile  to  a  pretty  foot.  She  evidently  was 
overjoyed  to  avoid  having  to  join  the  Imperial  train. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  precipitous  slope,  where  the 
knife-bladed  sleds  flew  on  their  gleaming  course,  they 
paused  between  two  braziers  blazing  comfortably  into  the 
night,  and,  the  gallant  General  hastening  to  obtain  a  rush 
mat  for  Madame  Dermetchieff  to  stand  on,  they  began 
at  last  to  enter  into  the  fun  of  the  fete.  In  a  few  minutes, 
Sacha,  clad  in  silver-fox-bordered  white  cloth  and  wearing 
a  remarkably  becoming  hood,  landed  with  the  usual 
violence  of  such  arrivals  at  the  end  of  the  runway  with 
Alain  de  Coetmen,  who  had  convoyed  her  down.  For 
once  her  eyes  were  sparkling  with  animation,  and  her  face, 
flushed  by  the  excitement  of  the  flight,  was  pink  as  a 
winter-rose. 

"Delicious!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  delicious!"  and  Alain, 
laughing  at  her  delight,  was  on  the  point  of  asking  her 
whether  she  would  like  to  go  up  again,  when  a  tall  grace- 
ful figure  in  luminous  myrtle-green  velvet  and  sables 
joined  the  young  couple.  The  face  within  the  peaked 
fur-cowl  was  so  remarkably  beautiful  in  this  setting,  that, 
9  "5 


SNOW-FIRE 

had  Serge  been  there,  perhaps  he  would  have  wondered 
how  he  ever  could  have  looked  aside  from  it  to  the 
younger  one. 

"Oh,  won't  you  join  us,  Madame?"  Sacha  cried,  im- 
pulsively. "  It's  the  most  wonderful  sensation  to — " 

"Crawl  up  like  a  caterpillar  and  come  down  like  a 
bomb?"  Daria  interposed,  balancing  herself  lightly  upon 
the  blades  of  her  Skates.  "  I'm  afraid  I've  outgrown  the 
joy  of  such  violent  emotions." 

Both  Sacha  and  Alain  glanced  at  her,  bathed  in  the  soft 
glow  of  the  pink  electrics  that  made  her  look  absolutely 
girlish,  and  laughed. 

"You  are  a  pair  of  vile  flatterers,"  she  retorted,  with 
smiling  eyes  and  serious  face.  "  But  even  such  blandish- 
ments cannot  induce  me  to  risk  ridicule." 

"Ridicule!"  Sacha  exclaimed.     "Ridicule  and  you?" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am  acknowledgedly  and  in  the  sight  of 
all  a  grandmother,  am  I  not  ?  Well  then,  do  you  imagine 
that  those  tempting  little  sleds  have  been  contrived  for  the 
use  of  ancestors?  But  you  two  children  run  along  and 
play  now.  Toys  belong  by  right  to  the  young!" 

At  that  instant  a  huge  ball  of  fur,  shapeless  as  a  loosely 
corded  bale  of  goods,  came  bouncing  down  the  glittering 
hill,  and  brought  up  with  a  considerable  crash  at  their 
feet,  the  tiny  shuttle-like  sled  it  had  over-occupied  land- 
ing on  top  and  shooting  twenty  feet  farther  on. 

Alain  instantly  bent  to  the  rescue,  and  succeeded,  after 
no  inconsiderable  muscular  strain,  in  setting  the  hirsute 
mass  on  its  feet — uninjured,  moreover,  if  the  exasperated 
sounds  proceeding  therefrom  could  serve  as  a  token  of 
perfect  vitality.  Its  heavy  fur  cap  had  been  driven  by 
the  shock  clear  down  over  its  nose,  and  it  was  only  when 
Alain,  with  difficulty  steadying  the  unwieldy  creature, 
found  a  chance  to  pull  up  this  obstruction,  that  the  three 

116 


SNOW-FIRE 

amazed  onlookers  recognized  the  empurpled  visage  of 
General  Debeline. 

At  the  sight,  the  Grand-Duchess,  who  never  found  it 
worth  her  while  to  conceal  her  feelings,  burst  into  such 
uncontrollable  and  contagious  laughter  that  poor  Sacha, 
who  had  been  biting  her  lips  to  remain  serious,  instantly 
followed  suit. 

"Now  suppose  that  had  been  me!"  Daria  cried,  tremu- 
lously, wiping  her  eyes  with  a  scrap  of  cambric  snatched 
from  her  muff.  "I  hope  you  have  not  hurt  yourself, 
Mikael- Alexandra vich,"  she  continued,  as  soon  as  she 
could  speak  calmly,  "but  really,  at  your  time  of  life,  you 
should  begin  to  be  more  careful." 

The  General's  venomous  eyes  fixed  themselves  for  a 
short  but  telling  second  upon  the  lithe  figure  moulded  in 
its  sheath  of  gleaming  velvet.  He  was  still  ludicrously 
swaying  in  Alain's  grasp,  for  the  wind  had  been  com- 
pletely knocked  out  of  him,  and  he  felt  more  bruised  and 
battered  than  might  have  been  expected  from  the  thick- 
ness of  his  wrappings. 

"  It  is  the  first  time,"  he  at  last  managed  to  say,  "  that 
I  hear  myself  alluded  to  as  a  veteran ;  but  anything  com- 
ing from  such  gracious  lips  could  not  but  be  gratefully 
accepted." 

"Bravo,  General!"  Daria  commented.  "That's  the 
right  way  to  accept  defeat.  I  have  only  just  now  refused 
to  risk  such  an  upset  as  yours,  although  for  slippery 
slopes  the  balance  of  age  and  decorum  are  in  my  favor,  I 
believe." 

"  No,  it's  a  mere  question  of  practice,"  the  discomfited 
General-officer  muttered,  almost  too  low  to  be  overheard, 
but  Daria,  in  spite  of  her  fur  hood,  caught  both  words  and 
tone.  Sacha  and  Alain  wondered  with  beating  hearts  how 
the  intolerant  woman  would  take  this,  and  stood  waiting 

117 


SNOW-FIRE 

breathlessly  for  her  answer.  To  their  great  surprise  her 
eyes  once  more  crinkled  deliciously,  and  she  again  gave 
way  to  such  a  ripple  of  laughter  as  none  had  heard  from 
her  for  many  weeks. 

"You  have  no  sense  of  humor,"  she  gasped.  "Not  a 
scrap,  my  poor  Mikael- Alexandra vich !  Better  ask  this 
patient  youth  here  to  lend  you  an  arm  as  far  as  the  nearest 
refreshment-tent.  What  you  need  is  a  trifle  more  spirit, 
or  shall  we  make  that  plural?" 

General  Debeline  drew  himself  up  with  all  the  dignity 
he  could  summon  to  his  assistance,  and,  removing  his 
shaggy  head-covering,  bowed  low,  then  facing  ponderous- 
ly about,  waddled  off  in  his  thick  felt-boots,  a  thoroughly 
routed  man. 

"Isn't  he  a  dear  in  that  hairy  camail?"  Daria  gurgled, 
and  Alain,  who  had  accepted  a  curt  conge",  catching  im- 
perfectly the  last  two  words  as  he  returned,  replied: 

"  A  hairy  camel  ?  Why  yes,  he  did  look  a  bit  like  that, 
especially  when  on  all  fours."  And  once  more  both 
women  resorted  to  their  handkerchiefs  to  wipe  their 
streaming  eyes. 

"And  to  think  that  that  is  how  I  make  so  many 
friends!"  Daria  exclaimed.  "But  we  are  freezing,  my 
good  children,  so  return  to  your  game,  while  I  gyrate 
around  a  bit  before  going  to  supper  in  my  pavilion,  where 
I  hope  you  will  both  join  me — overlooking  the  abruptness 
of  the  invitation." 

"  If  Monsieur  de  Coetmen  will  be  so  kind  as  to  find  my 
skates  and  his  own,  I  think  we  would  much  rather  stay 
with  Your  Imperial  Highness — provided  we  do  not 
intrude,"  Sacha  said,  with  unwonted  decision.  Her  ex- 
treme shyness  had  been  wearing  off  bit  by  bit  this  even- 
ing, especially  since  the  advent  of  the  Grand-Duchess  with 
her  infectious  gayety  and  utter  lack  of  any  sort  of  pose. 

iz8 


SNOW-FIRE 

Indeed  she  was  beginning  to  feel  for  this  great  charmeuse 
one  of  those  headlong  enthusiasms  that  conscripts  some- 
times form  for  a  dashing  commanding  officer,  and  that 
carries  them  at  his  back  across  fields  of  death  and  carnage 
without  one  thrill  of  fear  or  even  the  consciousness  of 
danger.  For  many  days  now  she  had  keenly  studied 
Daria's  grace  and  originality,  watched  her  manner  of 
doing  things,  and  tried  to  understand  why  her  smallest 
actions  had  a  cachet  which  baffled  analysis.  Therefore  a 
new  occasion  of  observing  closely  this  dazzling  model  was 
very  welcome. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  youngsters  really  prefer  my 
company,  I'll  be  glad  to  have  you  with  me;  but  if  it 
is  merely  courtesy  on  your  part  then  please  do  run 
along!" 

Sacha's  pansy  eyes  were  fixed  just  then  upon  Daria 
with  something  so  much  akin  to  adoration  that  Alain 
scarcely  waited  for  the  end  of  the  reply,  but  hurried  off  in 
search  of  skates,  though  he  certainly  regretted  the  de- 
licious tete-a-tete  of  a  while  ago.  In  a  few  moments  he 
returned,  and  soon  those  three  remarkable  skaters  were 
performing  equilibristic  miracles  on  the  polished  armor 
of  the  river;  laughing  gayly  as  they  circled  around  each 
other  on  the  outside  edge,  and  reuniting  now  and  again 
to  exchange  funny  remarks  in  French  about  less  skilled 
performers. 

For  the  first  time  the  possibilities  and  the  peculiar 
charm  of  Sacha's  repressed  and  undeveloped  nature  began 
to  dawn  upon  Daria,  and  with  an  inward  pang  she  rec- 
ognized the  fact  that  what  she  had  hitherto  considered 
a  momentary  infatuation  of  Serge's  might  be  something 
more  serious.  She  began  to  consider  her  lines  of  defence, 
and  her  brooding  eyes  awoke  to  a  new  brilliancy  between 
their  long  lashes  as  they  turned  toward  the  well-knit 

119 


SNOW-FIRE 

athletic  form  of  de  Coetmen,  Spinning  on  one  foot  a  few 
yards  away. 

"  No  woman  on  earth  can  be  made  unhappy  by  marrying 
such  a  man,"  she  mused,  beginning  to  lead  the  way  toward 
her  own  tent,  where  Supper  waited — for  midnight  was 
slowly  booming  from  every  church  clock.  "  And  besides,' ' 
she  continued,  half -aloud,  "she  would  be  wretchedly 
miserable  with — " 

Sacha  at  her  elbow  faintly  caught  the  sound  of  the 
words  without  seizing  their  meaning,  and,  believing  her- 
self addressed,  asked,  innocently,  "Que  dites-vous, 
Madame?" 

Daria  wheeled  so  abruptly  that  she  found  herself  almost 
in  the  arms  of  her  pretty  rival.  "  I  was  merely  thinking 
above  the  ordinary  pitch  of  thought,"  she  said,  with  a 
curious  laugh.  Then,  balancing  herself  on  the  heels  of 
her  skates,  she  added  with  disconcerting  suddenness,  "  How 
would  you  like  a  trip  to  the  Algerian  Atlas;  wouldn't  it 
cut  this  weary  winter  pleasantly  in  two?" 

Sacha,  startled  by  the  tone  and  manner,  slid  backward 
at  least  a  yard.  "The  Atlas — the  Atlas — !"  she  stam- 
mered, uncertain  how  to  reply.  Was  this  a  joke?  On 
the  other  hand,  Algeria  seemed  (though  her  pride  would 
never  let  her  admit  this  to  herself)  so  far  from  the 
possibility  of  hearing  news  of  Serge.  In  her  embarrass- 
ment she  threw  a  quick  glance  of  such  appeal  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  unconscious  Alain  that  Daria  could  not 
help  a  grim  little  smile. 

The  incident  had  lasted  but  a  moment,  and  they  were 
already  beneath  the  wide  flap  of  the  tent,  extended  awn- 
ing-fashion over  gilded  lances.  Bending  swiftly,  Daria 
whispered,  "I'll  tell  you  more  about  this  later,"  and 
passed  In  before  them. 

Still  wondering,  but  almost  certain  now  that  Daria  had 

120 


SNOW-FIRE 

not  been  joking,  Sacha  followed  into  the  warm  and  fra- 
grant bower  of  flowers  and  verdure  where  the  feast  was 
spread  for  the  Grand-Duchess's  own  particular  cronies, 
and  mechanically  slipped  into  the  place  assigned  to  her. 
Curiously  enough,  Alain  was  her  right-hand  neighbor, 
and  as  she  raised  her  puzzled  eyes  from  her  plate  she 
found  him  glancing  questioningly  down  at  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  in  that  irresistibly  child-like 
way  which  only  her  few  intimates  knew. 

"I  should  ask  you  that,"  he  countered,  putting  down 
untouched  the  glass  of  punch  he  was  raising  to  his  lips. 
"Five  minutes  ago  I  saw  you  laughing  and  happy,  a 
transformed  Princess  Sacha ;  and  I  find  you  now  abstract- 
ed and  not  at  all  your  new  self.  What  has  occurred, 
Madame,  to  alter  your  mood  in  so  short  a  time?" 

Sacha  flushed  uncomfortably,  and  instead  of  answering 
began  to  turn  her  rings  round  her  fingers. 

"  Pardon  me  for  being  so  indiscreet,"  Alain  said, 
quickly.  "  I  have  no  right  to  question  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  she  whispered.  "You  certainly  have 
a  friend's  right  to  do  so,  but  the  fact  is  I  don't 
know  myself  why  a  mere  pleasantry  should  have  upset 
me," 

Once  more  the  clouded  loveliness  of  her  eyes  was 
raised  to  his,  as  though  she  expected  him  instantly  to 
read  her  riddle,  and  the  ghost  of  a  smile  came  and  went 
beneath  his  small  fair  mustache  before  he  spoke.  "  You 
must  admit,"  he  said,  quite  seriously,  "that  I  am  a  trifle 
in  the  dark.  If  I  am  to  be  the  Court  of  Appeal,  mayn't  I 
have  a  few  further  explanations?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  a  little  hesitatingly.  "  But  don't 
you  see,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  speak  about  it  to 
any  one  yet." 

A  somewhat  bewildered  expression  drew  Alain's  well- 


SNOW-FIRE 

marked  brows  together.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  as  serious 
as  that!"  he  murmured. 

"  Neither  have  I.  It  may  be  a  joke  or  a  hoax  or  a 
— serious  problem,"  she  said,  waving  away  the  dish  pre- 
sented by  the  soberly  clad  lackey  bending  between  Alain 
and  herself.  On  occasions  such  as  these  the  brilliant 
liveries  of  the  Palais  Stepan  were  not  on  view,  thanks  to 
Daria's  delicate  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

"A  joke — a  hoax — or  a  serious  problem?"  De  Coetmen 
echoed  as  soon  as  the  savor  of  the  white  truffled  risotto 
ft  I'lmperiale  had  progressed  farther  down  the  table. 
"Would  it  be  wrong  for  me  to  inquire  by  whom  it  was 
made,  perpetrated,  or  proposed?" 

Sacha  glanced  across  the  bank  of  crimson  camellias  and 
ivy  at  their  hostess. 

"Oh,  the  Grand-Duchess!  That  complicates  the  case 
before  the  Court ;  because  you  know  she  is  a  Sphinx  whom 
none  can  read." 

"She  is  extraordinarily  kind  to  me,"  Sacha  remarked, 
in  a  tone  of  finality  which  left  no  room  for  doubt  or  com- 
ment. "  So  kind,  indeed,  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  it." 

"  I  could ;  but  since  my  explanation  would  seem  too  direct 
a  compliment,  I  humbly  refrain  from  giving  it  in  extenso." 

Sacha  colored  again  prettily,  and  Alain,  gazing  at 
those  pure  rose  tints,  continued,  in  an  altered  voice: 
"What  I  can  say,  however,  in  all  discretion,  is  that  Daria- 
Mikaelovna  is,  as  a  rule,  averse  to  showing  herself  'ex- 
traordinarily kind'  to  persons  of  her  own  sex,  and  that 
you  should  feel  pleased  indeed  to  find  her  so  with  you. 
Many  people  speak  lightly  of  her,"  he  added,  gravely, 
"but  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  precisely  because  she  is 
a  good  deal  of  a  woman-hater  that  she  has  been  so  harsh- 
ly judged  at  times." 

J22 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Then  you  would  trust  her  implicitly  in  all  things?" 

"I!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  of  course  I  would.  She  is 
eccentric  perhaps,  or,  rather,  superlatively  original,  but  if 
I  read  her  aright — which  is  a  presumption  in  a  nobody 
like  myself — I  think  that  she  is  one  of  those  baffling 
people  who  conceal  a  man's  soul  within  a  lovely  fem- 
inine envelope.  One  cannot  measure  her  by  ordinary 
rules." 

"That  is  true.  It  must  be  true,  at  least,  because  al- 
though she  is  so  femininely  adorable  when  one  merely 
looks  at  her,  yet  her  whole  attitude  and  manner — so  far 
as  I  have  been  able  to  judge — are  quite  different  from 
those  of  any  other  woman.  That  should  make  for 
absolute  perfection,  should  it  not?" 

"It  does — it  does,"  Alain  affirmed;  "but,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  is  perhaps — "  here  he  faltered  for  a  second; 
"  perhaps  just  because  she  is  what  she  is — not  only  seduc- 
tiveness personified  when  she  so  wills  it,  but  many  other 
unattainable  things  besides — she  is  a  dangerous  friend 
for — for — imitative  children." 

The  smile  underlining  his  words  begged  grace  for  them ; 
but  amazed  by  the  boldness  of  this  usually  silent  and 
singularly  shy  hussar,  Sacha  drew  herself  up  indignantly. 
"  Am  I  to  understand,"  she  demanded,  her  eyes  quite  vio- 
let now,  and  shining  like  the  deep  amethysts  of  the  Ural, 
"that  the  imitative  child  is  myself?" 

Alain's  quiet  gaze  met  hers  unflinchingly.  "If,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  been  impertinent,  it  is  because  there  are  some 
flowers,  and  a  very,  very  few  human  beings,  who  cannot 
be  improved  or  altered  for  the  better." 

"  Mere  geese  shouldn't  borrow  the  peacock's  feathers," 
she  retorted.  "Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"No,"  he  said,  quietly;  "besides,  the  allusion  is  wrong. 
I  think  Lafontaine  spoke  of  blue-jays — wild  birds  of 

123 


SNOW-FIRE 

delicate  plumage,  swift  and  beautiful  beneath  the  forest 
branches  like  flashes  from  the  clear  sky." 

"Ah,  you  stoop  to  poetry  occasionally!"  she  mocked; 
but  she  was  no  longer  looking  at  him.  "  Don't  forget  the 
blue -jay's  voice  —  he  borrowed  the  peacock's  screech 
along  with  the  fine  feathers,  and  forgot  to  return  it,  I 
fancy." 

But  Alain  refused  to  smile,  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke 
again,  was  even  a  little  vexed,  Sacha  could  have  sworn. 
"  I  am  Her  Imperial  Highness's  devoted  slave  and  pro- 
found admirer,"  he  said,  simply,  "yet  I  must  repeat  that 
one's  own  individuality  is  always  better  than  any  copy, 
though  it  be  from  the  finest  models.  But  forgive  me, 
Madame,  for  having  said  so  much,  since  you  seem  to 
interpret  my  remarks  merely  as  a  double  blame." 

"Then,"  Sacha  petulantly  exclaimed,  "what  am  I  to 
do  if  that  proposal  of  hers  just  now  was  serious?" 

"Why  not  wait  till  you  know  before  you  question 
yourself?" 

"Or  you!"  she  half- whispered;  then  regaining  her  or- 
dinary soft  mode  of  speech,  she  added:  "  I  lunch  with  her 
to-morrow.  Will  you  come  and  take  tea  with  me  at  five, 
so  that  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it?" 

"You  are  selecting  very  inexperienced  and  unable 
counsel,"  he  retorted,  smiling  slightly,  "even  for  the 
solution  of  mere  pleasantries.  However,  your  wishes  are 
orders — the  most  flattering  I  have  ever  received." 

The  supper  was  finishing  in  a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke, 
trailing  its  dainty  bluish  volutes  over  the  crimson  splendor 
of  the  camellias,  and  Daria  rose  to  give  the  signal  of 
departure  just  as  the  concealed  orchestra  was  striking  up 
the  silvery  prelude  of  the  Sleigh-bells  Waltz.  Outside,  the 
great  yellow  moon  of  a  few  hours  before,  dull  now  with 
sleep,  was  lazily  sliding  toward  her  couch  of  clouded 


SNOW -FIRE 

sapphire,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  as  her  horses  were  bearing 
her  away  amid  a  crystal  carillon  that  seemed  a  lighter  echo 
of  the  skilled  musical  counterfeit  left  behind,  Sacha  fell 
into  a  reverie,  from  which  she  resentfully  aroused  at  the 
portals  of  her  Palace. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  embers  fall;  the  hearth  replies 
With  ashy  whispers,  and  arise 

Thin  smoke-threads,  tremulous  and  blue; 

Scarce  the  faint  glow  revealeth  you, 
A-dream,  with  happy,  tender  eyes. 

Without,  the  midnight  wanes  and  dies, 
Watched  by  the  bells.     How  swiftly  flies 
The  hour!     Soft,  silvery,  and  few, 
The  embers  fall. 

That  was  the  wind — she  turns  and  sighs 
Where  in  the  caverned  eaves  she  lies 

Waiting  the  dawn.     Dear  heart  and  true, 
Such  moments  all  our  love  renew! 
Cling  close — we'll  watch  in  lover-wise 
The  embers  fall. 

M.  M. 

"WHAT  do  you  think  it  was?"  Sacha  cried,  almost 
before  her  guest  had  had  time  to  cross  the  long  drawing- 
room  toward  the  nook  near  the  fire,  where  the  tea-equipage 
glittered  in  the  pink  dance  of  the  flames.  "Or,  rather, 
what  do  you  think  it  is?" 

Alain,  amused  by  her  impetuosity,  concealed  a  smile  by 
kissing  her  small,  heavily  beringed  hand  before  replying. 
"I  am  burning  with  curiosity,"  he  said,  accepting  a  low 
chair  opposite  her  sofa,  and  slowly  beginning  to  draw  off 
his  left  glove. 

"Well,  it's  serious,  after  all.  She  wants  me  to  come 
with  her,  first  for  a  week  to  the  South  of  France  and  then 

126 


SNOW-FIRE 

for  several  more  to  Bel- Abbes — I  think  that's  the  name — 
somewhere  in  the  gorges  of  the  Atlas.  There  now;  what 
do  you  say  to  it?" 

For  a  minute,  that  seemed  surprisingly  long-drawn  to 
the  girlish  impatience  Jbf  his  young  hostess,  Alain  said 
nothing  at  all.  Doubtless  the  broad  button  of  his  white 
uniform  glove  was  obdurate  and  refused  to  slip  out  of 
place,  for  he  kept  his  head  bent  low  over  it,  as  if  confronted 
by  some  intricate  Chinese  puzzle. 

"Well?"  she  exclaimed,  imperiously,  tapping  one  satin- 
shod  foot  on  the  fender.  "Well?" 

"Well,"  Alain  replied  at  last,  pulling  the  fingers  of  the 
conquered  glove  one  by  one  in  the  most  leisurely  fashion, 
"what  would  you  like  me  to  say?" 

Sacha,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  felt  a  strong  tempta- 
tion to  swear — one  of  those  fine  and  sonorous  Cossack 
oaths  which  she  had  occasionally  heard  would  have 
filled  the  bill  of  her  present  exasperation  admirably,  but 
all  she  permitted  herself  to  do  was  to  bring  down  her 
white  teeth  almost  savagely  upon  her  under  lip.  The 
great  room  was  comparatively  dark,  for  the  fitful  light 
of  the  fire  and  three  or  four  very  profusely  petticoated 
lamps  just  made  the  perfumed  dusk  agreeably  visible,  so 
it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  Alain  did  not  observe 
this  new  token  of  an  irritability  hitherto  unnoticed  in  the 
"gentle"  little  Princess. 

"  Silence  meaning  consent  in  any  and  every  case,"  he 
resumed,  with  a  lightness  that  struck  her  as  hardly  natural, 
"  I  can  honestly  declare  that  the  gorges  of  the  Atlas  have 
serious  advantages  just  now  over  frozen  Petersburg. 
Moreover,  if  rumor  sayeth  sooth,  your  beloved  Grand- 
Duchess  certainly  possesses  there  or  thereabouts  on  the 
fringe  of  the  Sahel,  or  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  a 
bordj — or,  rather,  the  buildings  of  an  ancient  Smala  of 

137 


SNOW-FIRE 

Spahis — which  she  bought  from  the  French  government, 
and  a  house,  transformed  without  too  much  injury  to 
local  color  into  a  delightful  habitation.  She  calls  this, 
I  believe,  her  Palace  of  Thought,  and  retires  therein  on 
occasion  when  weary  of  civilization.  There  are  cork-oaks 
in  the  neighborhood,  I  imagine;  a  stunted  forest  a  bit 
farther  on,  and  to  enter  this  sandy  Paradise  one  probably 
passes  by  many  tents  of  white-and-black-striped  camel's 
hair  which  look  eminently  picturesque.  In  fine,  the 
whole  affair  must  be  worth  the  trip,  even  without  men- 
tioning the  astonishing  quantity  of  partridges  and  other 
more  imposing  game  disporting  itself  among  the  tangles  of 
dyss  that  cover  the  foot-hills." 

Sacha,  her  fingers  interlaced  on  her  lap,  had  not  stirred 
once  during  this  oration,  and  only  when  it  was  brought 
to  a  close  by  a  deep-drawn  breath  did  she  speak. 

"Have  you  quite  done?"  she  demanded,  chillily. 

"  I  believe  so,  having  told  you  all  I  think  I  know." 

"That's  a  pity!  I  should  have  liked  to  hear  more, 
since  you  are  so  admirably  informed.  Will  you  permit 
me  to  compliment  you  as  a  cicerone,  if  not  as  an  adviser?" 

In  the  short  silence  that  followed  the  petals  of  an  over- 
blown rose  dropping  upon  the  polished  top  of  a  near-by 
table  seemed  unduly  noisy  in  their  haste  to  leave  the 
parent -stem,  and  poor  Alain  contemplated  them  with 
strained  intensity,  thinking,  and  thinking  quickly.  It 
was  already  an  old  problem  to  him.  Could  he,  an  im- 
pecunious officer,  with  little  else  in  the  world  but  an 
ancient  and  honored  name  and  an  old  weather-beaten 
tower  or  two  on  the  rocks  of  Finisterre,  ever  offer  himself 
to  this  embarrassingly  wealthy  young  Princess?  No, 
certainly  not!  Then  why  not  seize  this  chance  to  make 
his  sacrifice  less  painful?  Of  course,  knowing  what  he 
knew  of  the  Grand-Duchess  and  of  Serge  Urlansky,  he 

138 


SNOW-FIRE 

might  have  found  in  his  ticklish  Breton  conscience  a  good 
reason  for  doing  what  he  could  to  prevent  any  intimacy 
between  the  two  women;  but,  after  all,  with  Daria  in  the 
Atlas  and  Serge  in  the  Caucasus — especially  being  given 
Daria's  exquisite  tact  and  known  capacity  for  dispensing 
with  confidantes — what  harm  could  come  of  it? 

"I  am  sorry  I  have  vexed  you,"  he  said,  more  formally 
than  he  could  have  wished.  "  I  did  not  realize  that  you 
seriously  wanted  me  to  help  you  make  up  your  mind  on 
this  subject,  and  allow  me  to  say  that  I  am  both  sur- 
prised and  touched  by  the  honor.  But,  such  being  the 
case,  I  am  in  duty  bound  to  ask  you  whether  a  voyage  of 
this  kind  really  tempts  you  ?  You  told  me  once  that  you 
meant  to  enjoy  yourself  '  immensely '  this  winter,  and  be 
for  the  time,  of  the  world  worldly.  Now,  how  does  that 
accord  with  a  sojourn  in  the  solitudes  of  Algeria  at  its 
loneliest?" 

Sacha's  whole  demeanor  had  changed.  Her  face,  too 
grave  now,  if  anything,  was  half  turned  away  from  him, 
and  her  graceful  body  bent  forward  wearily  as  she  an- 
swered :  "  I  did  intend  to  amuse  myself,  to  go  out  every 
night  and  be  merry  and  light-hearted;  but  somehow — 
somehow — I  am  not  amused  or  light-hearted  at  all.  I 
am — "  She  paused,  and  straightening  herself  suddenly, 
concluded,  "  I  am  bored  to  death  almost  all  the  time!" 

Alain  repressed  a  start  of  surprise.  "  Bored  ?"  he 
echoed.  "With  all  the  world  at  your  feet,  complete 
liberty,  and — but  we  won't  mention  the  rest  of  your  titles 
to  happiness.  You  know  them  as  well  as  I  do." 

"Yes,  please  don't  mention  them.  If  they  are  titles, 
they  are — exceedingly  empty  ones." 

The  last  words  had  been  spoken  so  low  that  Alain  in  his 
turn  had  to  bend  forward  to  hear,  and  as  he  did  so  he 
saw  that  her  eyes  had  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  At  that 

139 


SNOW-FIRE 

sight  his  heart  seemed  to  freeze  into  a  solid  lump  that 
choked  him,  while  his  brain  turned  to  fire.  He  could 
stand  anything  but  this,  and  for  a  second  words  crowded 
to  his  lips  which  he  knew  must  not  be  spoken.  Unseeingly 
now  he  was  gazing  at  the  great  logs  crumbling  noiselessly 
into  feathery  gray  ashes  and  vivid  pink  embers — crum- 
bling like  his  courage,  his  set  determination.  In  another 
minute  he  felt  that  he  would  be  at  her  feet,-  breaking  all 
those  stoical  resolves;  and  then  the  door  flew  open,  and 
Fate  had  taken  the  question  from  his  hands. 

The  turn  of  a  life  for  good  or  bad  is  seldom  altered  by 
crushing  circumstances,  but  by  some  slight  incident  rather, 
which  in  after  years  seems  to  have  been  trivially  purpose- 
less and  ridiculous. 

"These  half -lighted  rooms  are  becoming  a  regular 
mania  with  you,  child!"  Countess  Nazoumoff  complained, 
affecting  to  feel  her  way  blindly  between  the  furniture. 
"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  unveil  these  horrid  old-fashioned 
lamps?" 

Both  Sacha  and  Alain  had  risen,  as  if  moved  by  one 
spring,  and  the  unmistakable  gleam  of  the  young  officer's 
brilliant  uniform  in  a  sudden  flare  of  the  fire,  no  less  than 
the  clash  which  in  his  embarrassment  he  allowed  his 
sword  to  make  as  he  left  his  chair,  rendered  it  impossible 
for  Madame  Nazoumoff  to  pretend  any  longer  that  she 
believed  her  daughter  to  be  alone,  or  even  that  she  did 
not  know  who  the  visitor  was.  However,  her  rather 
shrewd  duplicity  was  never  at  a  loss,  and  it  was  with  a 
well-contrived  little  burst  of  surprise  that  she  greeted 
Alain. 

"  Dear  me !"  she  cried.  "  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know, 
Sanoushka" — when  endearing  diminutives  came  to  the 
fore  one  could  always  be  certain » that  the  charming  in- 
valid's temper  was  not  of  the  sweetest — "  that  our  dear 

130 


SNOW-FIRE 

hussar  was  here  ?  I  think  it  really  selfish  of  you  to  keep 
him  all  to  yourself!" 

Alain,  devoutly  kissing  the  pretty,  much-perfumed 
hand,  divined  more  than  saw  the  impatient  little  tap  of 
Sacha's  foot  and  the  quick  concealment  of  her  tiny  hand- 
kerchief under  one  of  the  sofa  cushions. 

"You  do  not,  as  a  rule,"  she  said,  in  a  praiseworthily 
controlled  voice,  "like  being  disturbed  by  visitors, 
mamma." 

"  Ah,"  the  excellent  Countess  archly  remarked,  sinking 
delicately  into  an  arm-chair,  "but  this  is  different!  Mon- 
sieur de  Coetmen  is  not  an  ordinary  visitor — still,  of  course 
you  have  not  yet  acquired  the  nuances  of  a  visiting-list. 
Now,  for  instance,  in  the  present  case,  I  would  have  taken 
a  distinct  pleasure  in  enjoying" — the  word  was  flatter- 
ingly underscored — "the  presence  of  this  delightful  ex- 
ception to  our  Russian  boorishness." 

"  A  natural  one — if  we  care  to  call  ourselves  boorish — 
since  Monsieur  de  Coetmen  is  a  Breton,"  Sacha  re- 
monstrated, with  more  than  a  tinge  of  her  new-born 
audacity. 

"Fie,  fie,  my  dearest!  Naturally  I  was  speaking 
figuratively,  and  you  should  not  take  me  up  like  that. 
What  I  meant,"  she  continued,  unfurling  her  fan  with  her 
customary  preciosity,  "  is  that  when  one  sees  the  manners 
of  the  remodelled  military  man,  one  cannot  help  regretting 
the  past.  Ah!  In  my  time  one  had  still  reason  to  hope 
that  the  French  language  and  French  influence  would  be 
permanent  here.  Some  of  our  young  officers  then  verged 
on  the  gallantries  of  Versailles — quite  talon  rouge,  I  do 
assure  you.  Their  bows  were  poems,  and  their  attentions 
cast  in  the  daintiest  of  moulds,  but,  alas!  since  the  last 
war  especially,  they  have  become  inclined  to  swagger- 
as  if  that  deceived  anybody — to  adopt  the  swashbuckler 


SNOW-FIRE 

pose — very  silly  of  them  under  the  circumstances — and 
they  actually" — here  the  great  feather  fan  hid  the  pretty, 
slightly  faded  face, all  but  one  roguish  eye — "drink!"  she 
concluded,  witheringly.  "  Drink,  like  those  unspeakable 
mujiks!  It  appears  that  at  the  battle  of — oh,  what  was 
the  name  of  the  loathsome  place  ? — 

"Mamma,"  Sacha  brusquely  interrupted,  "how  can 
you  say  such  things?  Drink,  indeed!  Why,  our  fathers 
and  grandfathers,  and  all  our  great-grandfathers  too, 
have  been  remarkable  for  insobriety.  It  is  a  Russian 
vice — you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do.  It  has  not  extended  to 
women  yet,  but — 

"Are  you  afraid  that  it  might,  as  I  understand  it  has 
done  in  some  other  countries?"  Madame  Nazoumoff's 
disagreeable  voice  was  acid  enough  now  to  make  one's 
lips  curl  at  the  mere  sound  of  it,  and  Sacha  glanced 
helplessly  at  the  silent  and  perturbed  Alain. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  bravely  between 
his  two  hostesses,  "  Russian  women  are,  we  all  know,  the 
ideal  of  womanhood;  and  as  a  humble  servitor  of  His 
Majesty  the  Tsar,  you  will  surely  grant  me  the  privilege 
of  saying  a  good  word  for  my  comrades  in  arms." 

"My  dear  Marquis,  no  one  in  his  senses  could  refuse 
you  any  privilege — that  is,"  she  simpered, "leaving  out, 
of  course,  those  which  so  engaging  a  young  man  is  inclined 
to  ask,  and  which  we  will  call — since  French  alone  can 
express  it — les  privileges  des  papillons  tournoyant  audessus 
des  fleurs.  There  you  become  a  dangerous  person!" 
And  as  the  unfortunate  victim  sketched  a  gesture  of  pro- 
test she  allowed  herself  a  gay  little  laugh.  "  One  knows 
you,  you  breakers  of  hearts,  so  blithe  and  lightsome  and 
insouciant,  with  your  conquering  blond  mustaches  and 
tender  blue  eyes!  You  are  sad  deceivers,  all  of  you!" 

There  was  nothing  particularly  conquering  or  lightsome 

133 


SNOW-FIRE 

about  poor  Alain  just  then,  and  the  irony  struck  him  like 
a  barbed  arrow,  but  he  was  too  thoroughbred  to  refuse  the 
challenge.  With  a  deep  bow  he  rose.  "  You  must  admit, 
dear  Madame,"  he  said,  quietly,  "that  your  list  of  my 
supposed  talents  and  proclivities  is  somewhat  unkind. 
Perhaps,  however,  you  have  not  deigned  to  remark  that 
the  simple,  square-headed  Breton  gentleman  before  you  is 
no  '  breaker  of  hearts ' — nor,  I  assure  you,  a '  sad  deceiver.' 
However,  he  is,  I  beg  you  to  believe,  your  most  faithful 
and  devoted  slave  to  command  at  any  time  and  any 
hour." 

He  clicked  his  spurred  heels  together,  bowed  profound- 
ly, first  before  the  Countess,  then  to  Sacha,  and  backed 
from  the  room  as  if  from  the  presence  of  Royalty.  He 
had,  however,  but  just  reached  the  door  when  a  swish  of 
silken  skirts  made  him  turn  again,  and  Sacha,  crimson 
with  vexation,  drew  him  into  the  hall,  beneath  the  big 
enamelled  hanging-lamp.  Her  eyes  were  bright  with 
anger. 

"You  did  not  take  her  seriously?"  she  whispered, 
breathlessly. 

He  did  not  speak,  but,  on  an  impulse  with  which  later 
he  bitterly  reproached  himself,  he  took  both  her  hands  in 
his  and  drew  them  almost  roughly  to  his  lips.  "  I  shall 
never  take  seriously  any  words  but  yours,"  he  whispered, 
and  left  her  standing  there  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
vainly  trying  to  regain  her  self-possession  before  returning 
to  her  maternal  tormentor. 

When  she  did  so  Madame  Nazoumoff  was  lying  back  in 
her  chair  laughing  softly.  "  Routed,  routed!"  she  cooed. 
"  The  noble  Breton,  square-headed,  red-haired,  gray-eyed 
— toute  la  lyre  enfin,  including  a  lack  of  humor  seldom 
displayed  by  Celts.  Oh!  oh!  oh!  Monsieur  V Officer  de 
Fortune  (which  in  any  known  language  means  an  heiress* 

133 


SNOW-FIRE 

hunter) ,  did  you  think  that  from  these  gilded  ceilings  roast 
quails  and  sweet  little  millionaire  Princesses  were  going  to 
drop  into  your  mouth!" 

Straight  almost  to  rigidity,  Sacha  was  standing  before 
her  mother,  her  eyes  narrowed  to  two  glinting  slits,  her 
hands  clasped  before  her. 

"However,  my  pet,"  the  latter  continued,  quite  undis- 
turbed, "you  should  not  show  such  devouring  eagerness 
to  accompany  visitors  to  the  very  portals  of  your  palace. 
It  is  in  execrable  taste,  except  your  guest  be  at  least  a 
Grand-Duchess.  Such  empressement  in  ordinary  cases 
smells  of  the  bourgeoisie  a  mile  away,  and  in  this  particular 
one  the  flavor  is  very,  very  unpleasant,  even  to  the  meek- 
est onlooker — your  mother,  for  instance,  who  flattered 
herself  that  decency  had  not  been  left  out  altogether  from 
your  education !"  The  sentences  were  certainly  delicately 
shaded,  beginning  with  genuine  if  malicious  laughter, 
slowly  trailing  off  into  sarcasm,  and  ending  abruptly  by  a 
point -d*  or gue  keen  with  contempt.  "I  had  no  idea," 
she  resumed,  cuttingly,  seeing  that  her  daughter  still 
stood  like  a  statue  without  a  word  of  self-defence  or  even 
an  impatient  gesture,  "that  I  was  undertaking  so  dif- 
ficult a  task  when  I  sacrificed  myself  to  chaperon  you." 

"Your  sacrifice  is  at  an  end  here  and  now,"  came  sud- 
denly from  Sacha,  who,  without  so  much  as  altering  her 
attitude  by  a  flutter  of  her  long  eyelashes,  managed  to 
convey  by  her  tone  alone  a  curious  sensation  of  cold  to  her 
listener,  as  though  a  window  had  blown  open  to  let  in  the 
icy  night  air. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Madame  Nazoumoff  exclaimed, 
sitting  bolt  upright,  and  gazing  up  at  her  with  flush- 
ing face  and  troubled  eyes.  "What  can  you  possibly 
mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say — nothing  more." 

134 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Have  you  accepted  this  penniless  Iroquois,  then?" 
the  elder  woman  shrilled.  "This  brainless  coxcomb, 
hardly  able  to  pay  for  his  uniforms!" 

"I  have  accepted  nobody,"  Sacha  said,  in  the  same 
quiet  voice;  "and,"  she  added,  " I  do  not  intend  to  accept 
any  one — but  I  am  going  away." 

The  Countess  rose  with  a  swiftness  which  spoke  well 
for  the  state  of  her  present  health,  at  any  rate.  "  Going 
away!"  she  cried,  hoarse  with  fury — "going  back  to  coun- 
try snows  and  solitude;  and  do  you  think  that  I" — she 
beat  her  small  fists  furiously  on  the  table,  starting  a  soft 
avalanche  of  rose  petals — "that  I  will  accompany  you 
there  ?  Have  you  gone  mad  ?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  Sacha  said,  unclasping  her  hands  at  last. 
"Moreover,  solitude  is  the  only  thing  I  am  looking  for. 
I  leave  the  snow  here  for  your  own  enjoyment — since  I 
am  going  to  Algeria  with  Grand-Duchess  Stepan  for  a 
while." 

In  one  fleeting  moment  Madame  Nazoumoff  count- 
ed the  cost  —  to  herself,  naturally  —  of  such  a  decision. 
Doubtless  her  daughter  would  leave  her  in  charge,  with 
every  opportunity  for  self-indulgence  and  even  financial 
profit,  should  she  accord  her  a  quite  superfluous  but 
gracious  consent.  On  the  other  hand,  should  she  make 
herself  too  disagreeable,  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  the 
young  widow  from  bidding  her  return  to  her  own  more  or 
less  dilapidated  country-seat — a  place  of  draughty  cor- 
ridors, scantily  furnished  apartments,  and  servants  rusted 
to  loutishness  and  incompetence  by  laziness  and  long 
neglect.  Still,  consent,  if  consent  there  were,  must  not  be 
too  easily  granted:  the  contrast  would  be  undiplomatic; 
so,  with  her  mind  made  up  in  the  wisest  direction,  she 
continued  to  scowl  at  the  culprit,  who,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, seemed  to  accept  this  chastisement  calmly. 

135 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Ah,"  Madame  Nazoumoff  said  at  last,  shaking  off  the 
petals  which  had  drifted  upon  the  lace-laden  train  of  her 
elaborate  but  as  usual  rather  crumpled  afternoon  gown, 
"cela  c'est  du  nouveau!  A  friendship  with  the  ever- 
beautiful  Daria — a  flight  across  oceans  and  deserts  with 
the  great  capricieuse — and  no  doubt  her  dozens  of  adorers! 
Well,  well,  well!" 

Sacha  almost  smiled,  in  spite  of  her  exasperation. 
"Oceans  and  adorers  are  not  in  the  programme,"  she  re- 
marked, bending  over  the  huge  mass  of  roses  still  intact, 
and  straightening  them,  one  by  one,  very  deliberately. 

"You  certainly  don't  expect  me  to  believe  that  this 
ultra-worldly  sorceress — of  long  standing — is  going  to 
abandon  Petersburg  in  the  season  for  the  sake  of  Sacha 
Virianow's  sole  company!  You  are  bent  on  rilling  me 
with  surprises  this  evening." 

"You  may  believe  what  you  choose,  but  we  two  cer- 
tainly start  alone — with  a  suitable  number  of  couriers 
and  servants,  of  course." 

"Chamberlains,  equerries,"  the  ex-beauty  interrupted, 
with  a  sudden  sly  smile,"  and  perhaps — a — military  escort  ?" 

"No,  we  start  alone." 

"In  that  case,"  the  other  rejoined,  "with  regard  to  our 
Breton  friend,  you  remind  me  of  the  soldier  who  in  the 
midst  of  battle  was  heard  roaring  at  the  top  of  his  lungs, 
Tve  made  a  prisoner — a  prisoner,  but  he  refuses  to 
follow  me!'" 

Sacha's  shoulders  rose  imperceptibly,  but  she  did  not 
answer. 

"  And  might  I  ask,"  her  mother  drawled,  now  once  more 
nestled  before  the  fire,  "  when  you  intend  to  go  ?" 

"  In  a  very  few  days — less  than  a  week." 

"  And  while  you  are  about  it,  could  you  inform  me  what 
you  have  resolved  to  do  with  me?" 

136 


SNOW-FIRE 

"You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  remain  here,  as  you 
know,  or  to  go  anywhere  else  you  please.  My  cheque- 
book remains  as  usual  at  your  disposal,  should  you  desire 
to  take  a  trip  on  your  own  account." 

"Milk  graces!  You  are,  indeed,  a  generous  daughter; 
but  I  will  continue  to  accept  only  the  strictest  necessaries 
at  your  hands,  my  child,  as  has  ever  been  my  rule.  A 
roof  to  cover  my  head,  a  little  food — a  very  little,  as  you 
know  I  eat  like  a  bird — and  that  is  all!" 

Sacha  involuntarily  raised  her  eyes  to  the  lofty  ceiling — 
painted  by  a  master  with  gay  rounds  of  cupids  dancing 
amid  wreaths  of  flowers — which  a  brusque  crumbling  of 
the  logs  on  the  hearth  bathed  in  a  sudden  rosy  light,  and 
smiled  slightly.  The  roof  was  irreproachable,  at  any 
rate,  inside  and  out.  The  little  food — the  very  little  food 
— brook  trout  and  quail,  tropical  fruits  rushed  in  re- 
frigerator cars  from  distant  lands,  and  exquisite  small 
dishes  cooked  by  a  French  artist  of  the  highest  genius, 
especially  when  inspired  by  his  passion  for  Wagnerian 
opera — was  also  in  its  way  tolerably  acceptable,  brought 
as  it  was  on  massive  silver  salvers  to  the  fastidious  in- 
valid's extensive  suite  of  rooms.  Feeling  fairly  satisfied 
as  to  her  parent's  future  comfort,  Sacha  murmured  some- 
thing about  dressing  for  dinner,  and  left  the  room,  again 
assuring  its  remaining  occupant  that  the  Palais  Virianow 
was  at  her  entire  disposal  during  her  absence. 

"What  in  the  world  does  it  all  mean?"  the  good 
Countess  soliloquized  while  preparing  to  return  to  her  own 
particular  quarters.  "  Daria-Mikaelovna  does  not  gen- 
erally burden  herself  with  pretty  travelling  companions 
when  she  undertakes  trips  to  impossible  regions,  as  we 
know.  There  must  be  something — ah — disturbed — in 
the  state  of  Denmark,  or  else  I  am  indeed  mistaken !"  She 
paused  near  a  jardiniere  filled  with  flowering  white 


SNOW-FIRE 

heather,  and,  breaking  off  a  spray,  tickled  her  surprisingly 
smooth  brow  with  its  tiny  bells  as  though  to  stimulate  her 
thoughts. 

"  Yes — yes,"  she  muttered,  opening  the  door  and  pass- 
ing out  into  the  hall,  "  that  shrewd  Daria  has  some  imme- 
diate use  for  Sacha's  help,  but,  being  given  the  girl's  face 
and  form,  there  will  be  no  man  of  any  consequence — phys- 
ically or  otherwise — in  her  Highness's  train."  And  with  a 
satisfied  little  nod  at  herself  in  one  of  the  huge  mirrors, 
alternating  with  breadths  of  priceless  tapestry  along  the 
staircase,  she  reflected  that,  after  all,  she  was  still  a  re- 
markably pretty  woman  when  she  chose  to  "look 
pleasant";  and  went  slowly  up  and  up,  repeating  the 
admiring  process,  and  looking  more  and  more  pleased  as 
she  proceeded.  Life  had  not  lost,  she  judged,  all  its 
possibilities  for  her. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Against  the  moon  the  bowsprit  bears, 
The  cordage  all  her  disk  ensnares; 
Half-round,  an  angry  red  it  glows, 
And  crash — thud — crash  the  forefoot  goes 
As  through  the  glooming  gold  it  shares. 

Aloft,  the  west  wind  gusts  and  blares, 
And  every  star  Night's  garland  wears 
Pales,  as  the  long  glade  brighter  grows 
Against  the  moon. 

Dawnward  in  haste  afar  she  fares, 
Up,  up,  those  floating  trembling  stairs 
Let  down  in  light.     No  course  she  owes? 
Then  drive  with  any  wind  that  blows, 
Free  as  a  cloud,  and  void  of  cares, 
Against  the  moon  I 

M.  M. 

BENEATH  the  glittering  green  of  orange-trees  studded 
with  countless  balls  of  gold,  small  yet,  but  already  brightly 
colored,  Daria  and  Sacha  were  seated  side  by  side  on  a 
high-backed  stone  bench  so  garlanded  with  roses  that  they 
seemed  in  a  veritable  bower  of  perfumed  blossoms.  They 
were  enjoying  their  short  halt  at  the  Grand-  ducal  Villa, 
which  faces  the  blue  Mediterranean  waves,  and  is  backed 
by  a  small  forest  of  palm  and  lemon,  whose  pale  topazes 
gleamed  in  profusion  between  branches  that  here  and 
there  still  bore  clusters  of  heavy  waxen  buds  and  blooms. 

"Not  so  bad,  is  it?"  Daria  asked,  pulling  gently  at  a 
down -drooping  trail  of  ivy -geranium,  all  starred  with 


SNOW-FIRE 

pink,  which  filled  to  overflowing  one  of  the  broad  granite 
urns  flanking  the  bench  on  each  side. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  most  adorable  place  I  have  ever  seen," 
Sacha  replied,  enthusiastically.  "To  be  sure,  I  have  not 
seen  many  places  outside  Russia,  for  even  my  wedding- 
trip  was  un-Italian  and  excessively  Crimean — too  much 
so, 'indeed !  I  did  not  take  a  fancy  to  our  Southern  shores." 

"Under  such  circumstances  a  journey  is  always  dis- 
agreeable," Dana  said,  dryly,  without  looking  at  Sacha, 
who,  in  her  blue  -  and  -  white  muslin  and  wide  -  brimmed 
shepherdess's  hat  covered  with  Malmaison  carnations, 
seemed  far  too  girlish  to  know  anything  about  such 
matters. 

"Yes,"  she  began,  gazing  away  to  the  sun-flecked 
ripples  of  the  water,  showing  here  and  there  in  wide  plaques 
of  sapphire  between  the  masses  of  flowers  and  verdure 
crowning  the  sea-wall — "  yes,  I  think  Your  Imperial  High- 
ness is  right — at  least,  my  own  experience  was  not — " 
She  paused  for  a  moment,  staring  at  the  points  of  her  tiny 
bronze  shoes,  and  hastily  added :  "  He  was  awfully  good 
and  kind  to  me,  and  what  I  said  just  now  is  rank  in- 
gratitude; but,  of  course,  I  did  not  love  him — I  mean — 
You  know,  Madame,  he  was  old  enough  to  be  my  father!" 

"I  know,"  Daria  said,  quietly,  "even  your  grand- 
father. But,  then,  you  are  young  enough — thank  Heaven ! 
— to  look  forward  to  a  more  suitable  match  some  day." 
She  was  pinning  the  trail  of  pink-starred  ivy  in  the 
guipures  of  her  white  morning-gown,  and  the  task  must 
have  been  more  difficult  than  might  have  been  expected, 
for  twice  she  dropped  into  her  lap  the  jade  arrow  with 
which  she  was  trying  to  fasten  it. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  dreaming  of  marrying  again!"  Sacha  ex- 
claimed. "I  swear  to  you  that  I  would  far  sooner  be 
free!*' 

140 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Rather  too  eager  to  defend  herself,"  mused  the  ex- 
perienced woman  at  her  side;  and  in  her  brightest  way  she 
continued,  aloud:  "Well,  nobody  can  give  you  away  by 
force  a  second  time,  so  cheer  up.  But  those  glorious  white 
violets  which  dropped  into  your  lap,  apparently  from  no- 
where, as  our  car  rolled  out  of  the  station  that  snowy  de- 
parture morning,  would  almost  seem  to  indicate  that 
there  is  one  mortal  at  least  in  Petersburg  who  thinks  a 
great  deal  about  Sacha  Virianow." 

The  young  widow  blushed  vividly.  She  was  certain 
where  those  violets  had  come  from,  though  the  skilful 
thrower  had  kept  himself  out  of  sight.  Daria,  patting 
her  recreant  flowers  into  their  nest  of  lace,  did  not  appear 
to  notice  this  telltale  wave  of  exquisite  color,  for  she 
calmly  went  on :  "  Probably  there  are  a  great  many  more 
than  one;  and  if  your  heart  is  free,  you  will  have  a  very 
fair  mob  to  choose  from  when  you  return  —  unless,  of 
course,  you  are  carried  off  by  some  handsome  stranger 
before  that  auspicious  moment.  Have  you  any  prejudice 
against  foreigners,  by -the -way?  So  few  true  Russians 
have."  She  had  risen  while  talking,  and  seemed  wholly 
absorbed  in  shaking  from  her  skirts  the  little  leaves  and 
petals  broken  off  by  her  unusually  rough  handling  of 
the  flowers  now  adorning  her  corsage — she  who  always 
touched  blossoms  with  a  caress. 

"No,"  Sacha  hastily  answered;  "that  is,  yes — after  a 
fashion.  A  compatriot  always  seems  best.  But — what 
— what's  the  use  of  thinking  about  it  all,  since  I  do  not 
want  to  marry  again?" 

"  What,  indeed !"  laughed  Daria.  "  We  had  much  better 
go  in  to  luncheon  and  find  out  if  there  is  news  of  the 
yacht.  She  should  be  here  to-morrow." 

"Already!  Then  we  shall  start  for  Algeria  very  soon, 
I  suppose?" 

141 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  as  soon  as  possible.  You  see,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  spend  our  Christmas  at  Bel- Abbes — 
it's  an  original  idea.  What  do  you  say  to  making  a  Christ- 
mas-tree out  of  a  cactus  or  a  baby  cork-oak?" 

"Good  gracious!  how  amusing  that  would  be!  Could 
we  really?  But  are  there  no  pines  in  the  Atlas — firs,  I 
mean?" 

"  Pines  ?  Yes,  or  some  sort  of  an  apology  for  them,  but 
no  firs  —  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  see;  which,  by- 
the-way,  includes  a  considerable  distance.  The  Atlantid 
forest  is,  sad  to  say,  a  trifle  scrubby ;  not  greatly  like  forest 
at  all,  if  the  truth  be  told,  but  picturesque  nevertheless. 
So  are  the  women,  and  the  tiny  gray  donkeys.  Their 
lords  and  masters  hitch  both  despised  creatures  in  the 
same  span,  and  plough  the  fields  with  them." 

"Oh,  Heavens!"  cried  the  horrified  Sacha,  stopping 
stock-still  in  the  middle  of  the  path  and  dropping  her 
blue  sunshade.  "  Is  such  a  thing  possible  —  allowed  ?" 

The  Grand-Duchess  paused  to  give  her  a  chance  to 
recover  the  bright  object.  "  Possible — allowed  ?"  she  asked, 
amusedly.  "  Why  not  ?  When  every-day  holy  priests  of 
God,  and  doubtless  very  worthy  magistrates,  yoke  far 
more  admirable  women  to  far  less  admirable  donkeys — 
all  this,  mind  you,  with  the  entire  approval  of  that  still 
more  admirable  audience  called  '  the  Great  World.' " 

Sacha,  though  her  velvety  eyes  were  still  filled  with 
disgusted  astonishment,  could  not  help  laughing.  "  But 
think  of  the  degradation,  the  abomination  of  it!"  she  said 
at  last,  holding  her  open  parasol  mechanically  before  her 
like  a  buckler. 

"What;  Marriage  'in  high  life'?" 

"No,  no,  no — the  ploughing  women.     How  bestial!" 

"  Not  more  than  the  other  combination,  and  probably 
followed  by  less  unbearable  consequences." 

142 


SNOW-FIRE 

Sacha  this  time  remained  silent.  Her  quick  but  not 
very  deep  or  cultured  intelligence  had  hard  work  to  follow 
the  intricacies  of  Daria's  modes  of  thought.  "Can  she 
mean  the  Grand-Duke  ?"  she  was  asking  herself  in  dismay. 
"I  know  he  is  not  a  very  desirable  husband — but,  dear 
me,  what  a  comparison!" 

Meanwhile,  Daria  had  slowly  resumed  her  way  between 
two  solid  twenty-foot  hedges  of  camellias  so  covered  with 
red,  white,  and  pink  bloom  that  the  lustrous  leaves  could 
hardly  be  seen.  Her  pretty  guest  hurried  after  her,  a 
little  breathless  with  astonishment,  and  quite  disinclined  to 
resume  the  unpleasant  topic.  Fortunately  at  the  end  of 
this  fairy  path  the  villa  came  in  sight,  admirably  framed 
by  the  interwoven  branches  of  the  burdened  trees;  and 
Daria,  realizing  with  her  unfailing  tact  the  overstrong 
impression  she  had  created,  brought  the  picture  into  con- 
versational play. 

"That  is  my  work,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "and  very 
proud  I  am  of  it.  Most  houses  here  on  the  Azure  Coast 
are  wholly  incongruous  and  out  of  keeping  with  their 
setting.  Now  this  is  the  bastide  par  excellence — a  little 
idealized,  I  admit,  but  not  like  the  usual  marble  or  stucco 
monstrosities,  with  their  eternal  striped  awnings,  majolica 
vases,  and  green  iron  benches  like  the  ones  they  have  in 
cemeteries." 

Sacha,  quite  recovered  now,  laughed  her  soft  little 
laugh.  "  You  are  hard  on  the  'desirable  residences'  of 
the  region,  Madame!"  she  ventured. 

"  Eh  ?  Of  course  I  am !  It  is  a  shame  to  ruin  that  same 
region  with  giant  hotels,  and  preposterous  houses,  and 
avenues  bordered  by  palms  tied  up  when  the  mistral  blows 
as  if  they  had  the  toothache.  Why  not  let  the  olive, 
orange,  and  lemon  riot  at  will  ?  The  wind  does  not  hurt 
them,  especially  the  olives,  which  turn  to  gray-silver  at 

143 


SNOW-FIRE 

every  gust.  All  this,  however,  is  nothing  compared  with 
the  people  —  the  winter  invasion  of  barbarians.  Con- 
sumptives from  all  nationalities — poor  things — and  others 
not  consumptive,  but  odiously  lively,  and  therefore  ever 
so  much  more  objectionable.  Why  almost  any  day  you 
can  see  the  '  Road  of  the  English,'  as  they  call  it,  turned 
into  a  veritable  parrot-parade ;  vociferous  with  loud  birds 
from  South  America,  clad  and  cravatted  in  all  the  hues 
of  the  rainbow,  and  wearing  those  terrible  panamas  — 
the  most  democratic  head-gear  in  the  world — able  to 
level  royal  princes  with  city  clerks,  and  extinguish  any 
hint  of  distinction  either  may  possess.  Jewels,  false  and 
true,  glitter  there  all  day  long;  every  language  is  heard  in 
every  variety  of  unpalatable  voice — br-r-r-r-r-r !  And 
yet  one  is  supposed  to  come  and  recover  one's  nerves  here, 
between  the  charming  tourists  and  the  blatting  bands  of 
musicians  ambuscaded  behind  every  corner,  not  to  men- 
tion the  infinite  versions  of  Mandolinatas  and  Funiculi- 
Funiculas  piercing  one's  ears  the  livelong  day  and  the 
weary  discordant  night!" 

They  were  just  at  the  terrace  steps,  and  Daria,  running 
half-way  up,  turned,  and,  standing  over  Sacha,  suddenly 
raised  both  arms  above  her  head  like  some  tragedy  queen. 
"Hail,  O  simple  green  and  flowery  nook  that  now  art 
mine  alone,  and  the  work  of  my  hand !  Hail !  I  call  you 
blessed,  for,"  she  concluded,  wheeling  brusquely  and 
ascending  the  remaining  steps,  "is  it  not  here  that  I 
spent  my  own  cloudless  honeymoon?"  Her  harsh  little 
burst  of  laughter  struck  the  amazed  Sacha  at  the  moment 
as  the  most  disturbing  sound  she  had  ever  heard,  but 
hastening  to  catch  up  with  her,  she  found  Daria  coolly  un- 
fastening the  long  pins  holding  her  hat  in  place. 

"Now,  don't  you  think  I  did  that  well?"  she  asked, 
maliciously.  "The  stage  has  lost  a  pearl  of  great  price 

J44 


SNOW-FIRE 

in  me.  But  what  will  you?  To  be  a  good  comedian, 
even  in  real  life,  one  must  practise  one's  art  continually. 
There,  however,  is  the  gong,  so  let  us  direct  our  attention 
to  other  facts  of  existence — jellied  pullets,  for  instance, 
or  Howard  saut6  b  la  Tsarine,  Anatole's  greatest  triumph 
—  which  is  probably  why  he  always  travels  with  me, 
while  Gamier,  another  genius  who  can  grill  bones  and 
brew  champagne-cup  better  than  any  one  else,  remains 
meanwhile  in  Stepan's  service." 

Sacha,  completely  bewildered,  followed  her  about  all 
that  day  and  the  next,  trying  vainly  to  comprehend  this 
curiously  fascinating  nature  with  which  she  was  in  in- 
timate contact  for  the  first  time.  Wiser  heads  than  hers 
had  attempted  the  feat  with  a  similar  lack  of  success,  so 
she  need  not  have  called  herself  hard  names  for  her  lack 
of  penetration. 

The  yacht  had  arrived,  and  was  mirroring  her  graceful 
hull  and  dazzling  brass-work  in  the  calm  waters  of  the 
small  private  harbor  belonging  to  the  Villa  Stepan,  but 
the  Grand -Duchess  delayed  putting  into  execution  her 
plan  for  immediate  departure.  On  the  third  morning  at 
breakfast  she  said,  suddenly: 

"  I  won't  wait  another  hour ;  and  if  the  reply  to  my 
telegram  is  not  here  by  luncheon-time,  we'll  start  this 
evening  whatever  happens." 

As  Sacha  was  almost  always  shy  when  alone  with 
Daria,  she  did  not  presume  to  ask  what  had  caused  the 
delay,  but  went  on  sipping  her  Caravan  tea  and  cracking 
her  toast  between  her  pretty  teeth  without  a  word. 

"It's  true,  too.  Such  sudden  and  unaccustomed 
solicitude  aggravates  one!  By-the-way,  I  remember  now 
that  I  didn't  tell  you — you  quiet  little  mouse — anything 
about  it.  Well,  it  seems  that  Stepan,  nominally — though 
personally  I  think  I  owe  the  attention  to  some  far  more 

145 


SNOW-FIRE 

august  and  far  more  feminine  mind — has  decreed  that  the 
peaceful  gorges  of  the  Atlas  are  not  places  to  sojourn  in 
'without  male  protection.'  The  servants,  couriers,  and 
even  the  Kabyle  guards  are — I  quote  again — 'wholly  in- 
adequate.' Mind  you,  time  and  time  again  I  have  stayed 
there  alone,  practically  speaking,  but  now  it  must  be  other- 
wise, it  appears,  and  since  the  matter  is  not  worth  a 
struggle,  I  am — that  is,  we  are — supposed  to  remain  here 
until  an  escort  is  provided." 

"  Are  they — the  Graiid-Duke  I  mean — sending  troops  ?" 
Sacha  asked,  laughing. 

"  No,  worse  than  that :  an  aide-de-camp  or  two — some 
aged  generals,  no  doubt,  who  will  snore  uninterruptedly 
from  here  to  Algeria  excepting  when  guzzling  fiery  liquids. 
But  I  replied  to  my  good  husband's'  timid'  appeal  by  a 
message  of  such  length  that  the  telegraph  clerk  nearly  fell 
from  his  official  stool  when  he  saw  it,  issuing  the  fol- 
lowing ultimatum : '  Should  the  military  fail  to  appear  on 
the  scene  to-day,  off  we  go';  softening  this,  however,  by 
intimating  a  willingness  to  await  them  at  our  Algerian 
port  of  destination  if  not  compelled  to  wait  too  long. 
Also,  I  insisted — but  that  is  another  question,"  she  hastily 
concluded,  catching  herself  up  short,  much  to  her  lis- 
tener's surprise,  for  Daria  did  not  often  commit  the  betise 
of  half-revealing  what  she  intended  to  keep  to  herself. 

"  I  only  hope  they  will  not  send  us  General  Debeline," 
tittered  Sacha. 

"General  Debeline?  What  makes  you  think  of  that 
preposterous  upstart?  But  I  remember.  Isn't  he  one 
of  the  aspirants  to  your  hand?" 

Sacha's  slim  form  shivered  with  disgust.  "Even  his 
impudence  would  not  carry  him  through  such  a  proposal. 
I  don't  know  why  I  abhor  him  so,  but  I  do;  that's  all 
there  is  about  it.  Perhaps  he  is  a  jettatore." 

146 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Now  you  mention  it,"  Daria  said,  half  seriously,  "his 
fishy  eyes  have  something  disquieting,  something  of  the 
basilisk,  about  them.  He  is  a  dangerous  scandal-monger, 
at  any  rate,  and  people  who  stand  in  his  way  might  very 
well  meet  with  bad  luck.  But  let's  talk  of  something  more 
cheerful.  There  is  no  danger  of  his  being  selected,  since, 
as  Stepan  pompously  explained,  what  was  needed  was  a 
determined  body-guard,  ready  for  any  emergency." 

At  five  that  afternoon  a  telegraphic  message  of  some 
bulk  was  handed  to  the  Grand- Duchess  while  she  and  her 
guest  were  pacing  up  and  down  the  allee  overlooking  the 
sea-wall.  Daria  lagged  behind  long  enough  to  read  it, 
and  when  she  rejoined  Sacha  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
were  still  quivering  with  an  odd  little  smile. 

"We  must  go  back  to  the  house  at  once,"  she  an- 
nounced, "  for  we  start  to-night,  and  will  await  the  escort 
on  the  other  side.  Come  along,  quick,  there  are  half  a 
hundred  orders  to  be  given  yet!" 

"What  is  she  up  to?"  Sacha  (who  was  beginning  to 
recognize  the  influence  of  Daria's  particular  mischief- 
demon)  soliloquized  while  endeavoring  to  keep  step  with 
the  long,  supple  stride  of  that  perfect  walker.  "Most 
women,"  Daria  had  lately  said  to  her,  "  lace  too  tight  and 
walk  from  the  knee  instead  of  the  hip.  Hence  the  pitiful 
little  short  amble  we  witness  every  day — especially  since 
these  ghastly  instruments  of  torture  called  straight-front 
long-sided  corsets  have  been  invented ;  and  a  disgrace  they 
are,  in  more  senses  than  one."  She  herself  was  unham- 
pered by  any  exaggerated  steel  casings,  being  well  able  to 
afford  the  luxury  of  freedom. 

Haste  without  hustle  or  unpleasant  hurry  followed. 
Shortly  before  midnight  all  was  in  readiness,  and  the  beau- 
tiful yacht  darted  out  of  her  harbor  toward  an  enormous 
copper-red  moon,  just  rounding  from  the  deep  ultra- 
n  147 


SNOW-FIRE 

marine  horizon  beyond  which  crouched  mysterious 
Africa. 

This  voyage  in  a  vessel  so  perfectly  equipped  that  not 
one  wish  or  desire  could  remain  ungratified  above  or  be- 
low her  decks  was  a  new  and  delicious  experience  to 
Sacha,  and  she  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it,  like  a  child 
with  a  iiew  toy,  while  Daria  spent  most  of  her  time  on  the 
bridge,  with  an  uncut  book  upon  her  lap,  sunk  in  a  per- 
petual contemplation  of  sea  and  sky.  "  Qwelqnes  fours  de 
grand  repos,"  she  called  it,  when  Sacha  wondered  at  her 
sudden  immobility.  "But,"  the  latter  argued,  "isn't  it 
just  what  we  are  going  to  have  when  We  reach  Bel- 
Abb&s?" 

"That's  what  remains  to  be  prdved,"  Daria  laconically 
replied;  and  her  questioner,  after  standing  there  for  a 
moment,  admiring  the  faultless  angle  at  which  the  gold- 
banded  and  anchored  yachting-carJ  was  set  upon  the 
thickly  braided  tresses  of  the  woman  Whom  Parisian 
modistes  and  couturieres  always  designated  as  "  la  seule 
vraie  tikgante  qui  nous  reste"  rejoined  her  great  friend,  the 
ship's  dog  —  a  nondescript  wharf-rat  rescued  from  ill- 
treatment  by  Daria  two  years  before,  who  now  slept  ori 
a  satin  cushion,  and  ate  from  a  silver  bowl  with  ad- 
mirably acquired  superciliousness.  He  had  condescended 
to  bestow  his  patronage  upon  Sacha,  and  rising  from  his 
luxurious  couch  with  a  toothsome  grin  of  greeting  and 
good-fellowship,  went  so  far  as  to  frolic  after  the  worsted 
ball  that  she  was  so  evidently  rolling  along  the  deck  for  her 
own  amusement! 

Twenty-four  hours  later  the  sleek,  slow,  blue  waves  had 
transformed  themselves  into  foam-crested  hills  of  dull 
gray,  wickedly  struggling  With  one  another  at  the  in- 
stigation of  a  wind  fierce  enough  to  make  from  Medi- 
terranean material  something  strongly  resembling  a  mid- 

148 


SNOW-FIRE 

Atlantic  squall.  Fortunately  Sacha  was  not  seasick. 
Daria,  indifferent  to  weather  of  any  kind,  simply  encased 
herself  in  well-fitting  oilskins  and  sou'wester,  and  con- 
tinued her  silent  watch — for  something  that  must  have 
been  singularly  essential  and  absorbing,  if  the  fixity  of  her 
eyes  was  to  be  taken  as  a  sign.  She  had  told  Sacha  that 
she  needed  a  few  days  for  quiet  thought,  and  asked  her 
whether  complete  isolation  would  weigh  upon  her.  At 
meals  she  had  promised  to  be  livelier  than  ever,  "  by  way 
of  striking  an  average,"  and  Sacha,  who  usually  hated 
to  be  alone,  but  had  not  yet  had  time  to  be  bored 
amid  her  new  surroundings,  had  acquiesced  cheerfully 
enough. 

After  the  storm  the  yacht  glided  smoothly,  and  soon  the 
low-lying  Algerian  coast  began  to  fillet  the  blue  sea  with  a 
thin  ribbon  of  pale  gold,  turning  to  richer  and  deeper  hues 
at  sunset.  The  voyage,  however,  had  been  a  slow  one — 
presumably  for  the  purpose  of  letting  the  Messageries- 
Maritime  boat  arrive  almost  at  the  same  moment  or  very 
little  later,  As  it  came  about,  the  yacht  cast  anchor  in 
Algerian  waters  one  balmy  evening  just  after  dark.  The 
strong  scent  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  mixed  with  a 
quaint,  outlandish  savor  of  sea-weed  and  semi-tropic 
herbage,  was  blown  by  a  lilting  breeze  across  the  deck, 
and  the  two  women,  stretched  in  long  cane  chairs,  inhaled 
it  delightedly.  Before  dinner  Sacha  had  overheard  her 
hostess  giving  some  instructions  to  her  faithful  and  de- 
voted factotum  and  courier,  and  had  caught  something 
about  "come  aboard  at  midnight;  not  a  minute  sooner." 
There  had  also  been  another  low  but  peremptory  injunc- 
tion concerning  "  no  noise,  please,  of  any  sort . . .  and  not  a 
word  to  anybody  excepting  the  steward  in  charge."  At 
first  the  words  had  seemed  of  no  importance,  but  present- 
ly they  began  to  puzzle  the  little  Princess.  Who  was  to 

149 


SNOW-FIRE 

come  aboard  at  midnight  without  any  noise  and  with  so 
much  secrecy? 

At  twenty,  and  sometimes  even  much  later  in  life, 
curiosity  is  a  very  living  factor  in  feminine  nature,  and 
Sacha,  being  excessively  feminine,  racked  her  brain  in 
order  to  read  the  riddle,  but  as  usual  with  those  proposed 
by  Daria,  it  was  quite  undecipherable.  So  she  decided 
to  be  on  hand  at  the  fateful  hour,  in  order  to  find  out  for 
herself  who  the  mysterious  stranger  or  strangers  might  be 
— never  thinking,  of  course,  of  the  expected  escort — fat 
old  generals,  doubtless,  for  whom  such  interesting  prep- 
arations would  not  be  dreamed  of;  and  in  order  to  put 
into  execution  her  Machiavelian  intentions,  she  pretended 
to  fall  into  a  doze  as  eleven  o'clock  drew  near.  Surely 
the  Grand-Duchess  would  forget  her,  and  she  might  see 
between  half-shut  eyes  who  really  was  arriving.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  Daria-Mikaelovna  was  never  absent- 
minded  when  it  suited  her  to  be  otherwise.  Hardly 
had  her  charming  guest  let  herself  droop  among  the 
cushions  of  her  chair  in  a  properly  sleepy  attitude,  than 
the  watchful  Daria  began  to  unfold  from  about  herself  the 
mellow  folds  of  a  white  burnous  and  languidly  rose  to 
her  feet.  Sacha  never  stirred;  her  soft  lips  were  un- 
closed a  trifle,  her  deep-fringed  lashes  rested  on  her 
faintly  rosy  cheeks,  and  her  breathing,  gentle  as  a  baby's, 
made  the  lace  scarf  thrown  over  her  breast  rise  and  fall 
in  the  most  approved  fashion. 

Daria  for  a  few  moments  stood  beside  her,  the  slightest 
of  amused  smiles  curling  her  short,  imperious  upper  lip. 
"Very  nicely  done,"  she  thought,  "but  not  quite  well 
enough  to  deceive  me.  That  lively  little  mouse  is  no 
more  sleepy  than  I  am!"  She  stretched  out  her  arms 
with  a  yawn,  meant  to  indicate  her  belief  in  that  un- 
conquerable drowsiness — then  yawned  a  bit  louder,  and 

150 


SNOW-FIRE 

finally  indulged  in  a  small  cough,  as  though  the  fragrant 
breeze  had  freshened  to  the  chilling  point.  This  being 
really  too  distinct  a  sound  to  be  wholly  ignored  by  even 
profound  sleep,  Sacha  turned  ever  so  slightly  on  her 
cushions,  and  allowing  one  small  pink-nailed  hand, 
glittering  with  diamonds  and  pearls,  to  fall  relaxedly  over 
the  wide  arm  of  her  chair,  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  then  re- 
sumed her  peaceful  breathing.  Daria's  smile  was  threat- 
ening to  become  a  laugh,  and  she  had  to  turn  her  head 
away  for  a  moment.  "How  can  she  have  guessed  that 
there  is  a  bit  of  a  surprise  in  the  wind?"  she  asked  her- 
self. Then,  with  a  slow,  graceful  movement,  she  turned 
again  and  touched  Sacha's  shoulder. 

"Eh!  What  is  it?"  the  girl  murmured,  without  open- 
ing her  eyes.  "  Is  it  already  time  to  ...  to  get  up, 
Rosalie?" 

"No;  time  to  go  to  bed,  my  dear,"  Daria  said,  quietly. 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  tired?  It's  treating 
me  unfairly.  Besides,  the  air  here  is  not  always  healthy 
at  night.  Come  along  now,  we'll  go  below." 

With  very  creditable  dazedness,  Sacha  left  her  com- 
fortable nest,  and  stood  a  little  unsteadily  before  the 
Grand-Duchess,  rubbing  both  fists  into  a  pair  of  vexed 
and  wide-awake  eyes.  "I  am  not  tired  ...  not  a  bit 
tired.  ...  I  only  ate  too  much  at  dinner,  and  felt  heavy 
for  a  few  minutes."  This  from  a  young  person  who  ate, 
as  her  mother  loved  untruthfully  to  state  of  her  own 
appetite,  "like  a  little  bird!"  The  laugh  with  which 
Daria  had  been  struggling  rang  out  so  freely  that  a  sailor 
—  really  asleep,  this  one,  and  leaning  on  a  stanchion 
somewhere  in  the  shadow  —  woke  with  a  scared  start; 
for  the  discipline  of  the  Grand -ducal  yacht  was  se- 
vere. 

"  What  makes  you  laugh,  Madame  ?"  Sacha  asked,  with 


9NOW-FIRE 

aS  near  an  approach  to  peevishness  as  she  had  ever  dis- 
played before  her  hostess. 

"The  idea  of  your  gorging  yourself  into  heaviness!" 
And  throwing  one  arm  across  Sacha's  shoulders,  she  drew 
her  unwilling  prisoner  toward  the  conijpanionway, 

Alone  in  her  exquisite  room,  all  panelled  with  sea-green 
silk  thickly  embroidered  with  silver  hippocampi,  the 
Princess,  to  the  extreme  astonishment  of  her  waiting- 
maid,  beat  her  White  kid  slippers  angrily  oil  the  carpet. 
She  was  furious  to  have  been  so -neatly  trapped,  and  bare- 
ly allowing  Rosalie  to  help  her  into  a  creamy  cashmere 
dressing-gown,  she  dismissed  her  with  a  curt  "  1  won't 
need  you  any  more,"  and  established  herself  on  a  sofa 
beneath  one  of  the  open  port-hdles — determined  at  least 
to  hear,  if  She  cotild  riot  see. 

For  what  seemed  to  her  a  long  time  she  heard  nothing 
at  all,  and,  in  the  half-light  of  the  shaded  electric  globe  in 
the  ceiling,  she  began  to  feel  her  eyes  fill  With  sand.  Once, 
twice,  her  head  drooped,  and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  she  resisted  the  temptation  of  those  down- 
filled  green  silk  pillows,  Where  it  would  have  seemed  so 
delicious  to  rest.  Once,  and  once  again,  the  pale  satiri  of 
her  heavy  hair  nearly  touched  this  alluring  softness,  and 
then  all  of  a  sudderi  she  was  asleep :  dreaming  that  she  was 
back  at  St.  Petersburg,  and  that  Serge  Urlansky  was 
bending  over1  her  With  ail  immense  bouquet  of  white 
roses. 

Then  another  voice  spoke,  less  caressing,  more  self- 
contained,  and  not  quite  so  distinct;  for  there  seemed  to 
be  a  ripple  of  water,  a  very  quiet  backing  of  oars,  covering 
it.  "  How  can  I  ever  thank  yotij  Madahie,  for  having 
selected  me  from  so  many  more  worthy.'1  At  this  she 
half  awoke,  and  could  almost  have  sworn  that  it  was 
Daria  who  replied,  *'  Mais  comment  done,  moH  atnit  vous 

152 


SNOW-FIRE 

etes  fait  pour  passer  au  choix!"  l  She  pondered  laborious- 
ly for  a  hazy  moment,  but  as  nothing  more  followed, 
gradually  relaxed,  and  let  her  dreams  take  her  again  far 
away  from  the  fragrant  Algerian  land. 

1  Passer  au  choix — military  phrase,  meaning  to  select  because 
of  personal  merit,  and  not  merely  on  account  of  seniority  in  the 
service. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  truest  heart  may  waver,  on  the  day 
When  Faithful's  near,  and  Faithless  far  away. 

M.  M. 

SACHA  was  awakened  by  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
shooting  rose-gold  through  the  port-hole  straight  upon 
her  closed  eyes.  As  it  invariably  happens  when  one  has 
slept  in  an  unaccustomed  place,  she  lay  wondering  where 
she  was.  Her  confused  dreams,  moreover,  had  tired  and 
bewildered  her,  and  she  found  herself  at  first  utterly  un- 
able to  gather  together  the  threads  of  her  life  on  board 
the  yacht.  Finally  she  sat  up,  then  rose  slowly,  and 
limped — for  one  of  her  little  feet  was  still  asleep — to  the 
toilet- table,  and  glanced  at  herself  in  the  big  round  mir- 
ror surmounting  it.  Her  hair,  almost  entirely  unbound, 
made  about  her  brows  a  halo  of  cobweb  silkiness,  shining 
in  its  scarcely-tinted  paleness  as  if  half  of  it  at  least  were 
spun  from  moonbeams.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  slumber- 
ous by  contrast,  and  the  faint  flush  on  her  small  face 
added  a  delicious  finish  to  a  very  perfect  picture.  Two 
or  three  times  she  yawned,  opening  wide  her  pretty 
mouth,  stretched  herself  luxuriously,  and  then  glanced, 
first  in  the  direction  of  the  great  silver  bath-tub  gleaming 
invitingly  beyond  an  open  door,  then  at  the  clear  morning 
light  flooding  extravagantly  into  the  room.  Sky  and  sea 
melted  into  luminous  but  faintest  blue,  still  wrapped  in  the 
gauziness  of  dawn,  and  a  sudden  thought  of  how  delicious 
a  brisk  walk  on  deck  would  be,  before  anybody  was  astir, 

'$4 


S  N  O  W  -  F I  R  E 

made  her  mechanically  rearrange  her  peignoir,  unbolt  her 
door  as  silently  as  possible,  and  glide  up  the  companion- 
stairs  one  step  at  a  time  on  the  thick  carpet,  glancing 
continually  over  her  shoulder  in  fear  of  some  observing  eye. 

When  she  reached  the  top  the  blinding  radiance  of  the 
new-risen  sun  struck  her  like  a  blow,  and  unconsciously 
clutching  at  the  bronze  banister,  she  closed  her  eyelids 
tightly.  In  a  moment,  however,  shielding  her  face  from 
the  dazzle  with  interlacing  fingers,  she  stepped  upon  the 
newly  swabbed  and  holystoned  planking  —  the  Grand- 
Duchess'  sailors  rose  early  indeed,  she  thought — and  went 
slowly  aft,  still  unable  clearly  to  distinguish  any  object 
in  this  riot  of  pure  sea-light  and  sun-power. 

Presently  she  caught  sight  of  a  broad-shouldered,  white 
duck-clad  figure  leaning  against  the  taffrail  which  she 
could  not  connect  with  any  of  the  officers  of  the  yacht. 
There  was  something  about  this  white  silhouette  against 
the  blue  water  .that  drew  the  eye — distinguished,  one 
would  have  called  it — and  strangely  enough  it  seemed  to 
the  still  half-drowsy  Sacha  that  she  had  seen  it  before — 
somewhere,  although  she  could  not  remember  where. 
Curiosity  indeed  must  have  been  her  darling  sin,  for,  in- 
stead of  retracing  her  steps,  she  began  to  creep  obliquely 
and  soundlessly — or  so  at  least  she  believed — toward  a 
point  of  vantage  wherefrom,  herself  unnoticed,  she  might 
examine  the  unknown.  Nearer  and  nearer  she  came, 
delightedly  imitating  the  "  shadow-like  advance "  of  a 
Cooper  Redskin  upon  his  enemy.  But  unfortunately  for 
the  success  of  her  efforts,  anything  resembling  moccasins 
was  sadly  lacking  from  Sacha's  superabundant  outfit,  since 
the  noble  savage  is  difficult  to  impersonate  in  slippers 
provided  with  pointed  heels.  So  the  white-clad  per- 
sonage, who  would  have  remained  undisturbed  by  the 
patter  of  a  hundred  naked  sailor  feet,  veered  round  with 

J55 


SNOW-FIRE 

such  abruptness  that  he  caught  the  amateur  scout  within 
four  paces  of  him. 

Observed  and  observer  stood  for  an  interminable  in- 
stant stock-still,  but  in  both  those  young  faces  the  blood 
surged  in  a  wave  that  crimsoned  him  and  transformed  her 
into  an  exquisite  and  living  rose. 

Womanlike,  she  recovered  first,  and  advanced  with  a 
smile  that  set  his  heart  pounding  against  his  ribs. 

"Good  Heavens!  Monsieur  de  Coetmen,"  she  said,  a 
trifle  unsteadily,  "  how  came  you  here  ?  Have  you  risen 
out  of  the  sea?" 

Poor  Alain,  who  had  been  kept  awake  all  night  by  the 
mere  thought  of  her  neighboring  presence,  pulled  himself 
together  as  best  he  might,  and  bowed  low  over  her  ex- 
tended hand. 

"  I  am  here  by  command,  Madame,"  he  said,  nervously, 
trying  vainly  to  recover  his  self-possession. 

"By  command?"  she  repeated,  quite  unaware  that  her 
hand  was  still  in  his.  "By  whose  command,  pray?" 

"The  Tsar's." 

"Oh!  you  are  in  charge  of  the  escort,  then?"  she  ex- 
claimed, correcting  the  disappointment  in  her  tone  by  a 
light  little  laugh. 

"  Pardon  me,  Princess;  I  am  under  the  command  of  the 
escort  commander,  General  Count  Nerigiiine,  who  is 
presumably  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just  and  irreproach- 
able somewhere  under  our  feet." 

Sacha,  with  another  blush  worthy  of  the  first,  drew  her 
hand  petulantly  away.  "  You  did  not  come  of  your  own 
accord  I"  she  cried,  and  the  next  instant  could  have 
bitten  her  tongue  in  two  for  having  done  so.  "  Did  some 
extraordinary  personage  come  with  you? — for  otherwise 
I  can't  understand  Daria-Mikaelovna's  mysterious  be- 
havior," she  added,  hastily. 

'56 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  What  did  the  mystery  consist  of  ?"  he  asked.  He  had 
reconquered  his  poise,  although  to  look  at  her  as  she  stood 
there,  in  the  classic  folds  of  her  white  cashmeres  and  the 
nimbus  of  her  wind-blown  hair,  did  not  help  him  to 
calmness. 

"Oh!  a  lot  of  whispered  orders,  and  my  being  sent  to 
bed  like  a  baby,  long  before  grown-ups  retire !  I  would 
wager,  though,  that  she  was  up  when  you  came." 

"  You  would  win,  to  a  dead  certainty,"  he  admitted. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand!"  she  murmured,  with  a 
frown.  "Why  were  you  sent  here,  anyway?" 

"That  I  cannot  say,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "because 
I  have  not  the  least  idea  why  Grand-Duke  Stepan  ordered 
me  at  the  last  moment  to  join  General  Neriguine  and 
Basil  Demetrieff  Kotchinine." 

Sacha  was  Visibly  pondering  the  ins  and  outs  of  these 
revelations,  and  after  watching  her  for  some  moments, 
Alain  ventured  to  speak  again. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "you  will  vex  the 
Grand-Duchess  if  you  spoil  what  she  may  have  planned 
as  a — a — good  joke.  Suddenly  dropping  a — a  playmate 
of — something  approaching  your  own  age,  so  to  speak — " 

"Good  joke!"  Sacha  cried,  furiously.  "Your  own  is 
still  better — and  where  does  her's  come  in  ?  What  have 
I  to  do  with  the  famous  escort  anyhow — young,  old,  or 
otherwise?'* 

Snubbed,  but  perhaps  not  quite  so  crushed  as  might 
have  been  believed,  for  the  sudden  little  burst  of  anger  to 
which  she  had  given  way  had  its  reassuring  aspects,  Alain 
let  the  squall  pass,  and  as  soon  as  a  sign  of  returning  sun- 
shine appeared,  he  said, gently:  "I  was  merely  thinking 
that,  since  you — and  I  also,  thank  God — are  bound  to 
spend  the  next  few  weeks  with  Her  Imperial  Highness,  it 
might  perhaps  be  better  for  us  to  humor  her.  You  and 


SNOW-FIRE 

I  both  admire  her,  heart  and  soul ;  but  still  one  can't  deny 
that  she  is  not  exactly  what  one  might  call  particularly 
easy  to  get  along  with  sometimes — and  you  know  that  on 
her  and  on  her  alone  will  depend  the  pleasure  of  our  short 
holiday."  He  made  a  pleading  little  gesture,  which  al- 
together broke  down  Sacha's  wonderful  defences,  and  she 
dimpled  into  a  dazzling  smile. 

"  Oh !  if  that's  what  you  meant,"  she  quickly  interposed, 
"it's  different  altogether.  Let's,  by  all  means,  play  the 
comedy  of  ignorance.  We'll  greet  each  other  with  cries 
of  surprise  at  breakfast — but  I  must  go  at  once!  Try 
and  be  serious  when  the  surprise  is  sprung!"  And  draw- 
ing the  Pompadour  hood  of  her  loose  gown  brusquely  over 
her  disordered  hair,  she  gave  him  another  roguish  smile, 
and  picking  up  her  skirts,  tiptoed  away  with  the  swift 
grace  of  health  and  youth,  leaving  him  a  thousand  times 
more  in  love  than  ever  before. 

As  to  her — as  soon  as  she  had  closed  and  locked  her  door 
once  more  behind  her,  she  stood  for  a  moment  absolutely 
still,  her  whole  being  racked  with  remorse  and  self-con- 
tempt. Why  should  she  be  so  pleased  to  see  Alain  again  ? 
Why  was  his  presence  so  delightful  to  her?  Had  she, 
then,  no  longer  any  thought  for  Serge?  Was  the  lover 
of  yesterday  already  forgotten? 

She  leaned  heavily  against  the  closed  panel,  her  head 
almost  entirely  hidden  in  her  hood,  her  shoulders  shaking 
convulsively.  "Oh,  Serge!  Serge!"  she  sobbed,  "why 
is  it  not  you  who  came?  Why  should  I  be  pulled  here 
and  pulled  there,  and  hurt  and  domineered  over  by  every- 
body in  turn  ?"  Why  had  not  Serge  instead  of  Alain  sent 
those  discreet  white  violets  in  the  Petersburg  station? 
Her  distress  seemed  more  than  she  could  bear  for  a  short 
while,  then  somehow  the  sobs  grew  slower  and  longer 
drawn,  the  whole  attitude  lost  its  pathetic  droop,  and 

158 


SNOW-FIRE 

little  by  little  the  acute  pain  drifted  into  dawning  in- 
dignation. Why  had  Serge  not  bound  her  to  him  before 
leaving  ?  Why  had  he  never  written  her  one  word  during 
all  these  weeks  ?  Why  had  he  gone  at  all  ?  She  wrath- 
fully  tore  off  her  delicate  dressing-gown,  threw  it  on  the 
floor,  and  banging  the  door  of  her  bath-room  viciously 
behind  her,  turned  on  both  taps  at  once  in  order  to  get  her 
toilet  over  as  soon  as  possible. 

She  would  have  been  dismayed,  indeed,  had  she  known 
that  Daria  at  that  very  instant  was  lying  back  on  the 
cushions  of  her  favorite  lounge  in  her  private  salon  ad- 
joining the  chart-room,  laughing  uncontrollably,  after 
watching  between  the  down-drawn  blinds  the  little  love- 
scene  on  deck.  Whatever  tiny  doubt  might  still  have 
lingered  in  some  innermost  corner  of  her  heart,  had  been 
put  to  flight  by  the  blushes  and  smiles  and  delicious 
confusion  of  those  two  handsome  young  people  whom  she 
had  seen  and  read  so  easily.  She  too  had  slept  on  a  sofa 
that  night,  but  her  heavy  braids  were  as  sleek  and  beau- 
tifully disposed  as  ever,  and  her  rose-colored  batiste  dress- 
ing-gown, all  smothered  in  Irish  point,  as  wholly  un- 
crumpled  as  if  she  had  not  turned  once  during  the  last 
five  hours.  In  her  left  hand  was  a  half-smoked  cigarette, 
with  which  she  had  been  blowing  fairy  rings  before  the 
incident  that  had  filled  her  with  such  amusement  and 
content.  She  now  tossed  it  into  a  broad  ash-receiver, 
rose  all  of  a  piece,  and  stood  balancing  heel  and  toe  on  her 
pink  bdbouches  for  a  minute,  still  wreathed  in  smiles, 
before  she  followed  Sacha's  example  by  slipping  noiseless- 
ly to  her  apartment  below;  thinking  the  while  how  she 
would  enjoy  in  an  hour  or  so  the  meeting  of  those  two 
guileless  conspirators. 

To  be  frank,  the  projected  comedy  came  off  very  badly, 
especially  in  so  far  as  poor  Sacha  was  concerned.  Alain's 


SNQW-FIHE 

stiff  bow  could  perhaps  have  passed  for  natural,  but  her 
little  cry  of  surprise  at  seeing  him  there  was  rather  over- 
done, and  the  laugh  which  followed  it  manifestly  forced, 
and  unluckily  underlined  by  a  blush  which  spoke  louder 
than  either.  Daria,  however,  who  was  busy  at  the 
samovar,  covered  these  deficiencies  with  so  unaffected  and 
simple  a  "why,  that's  true,  you  are  old  friends,"  that  it 
gave  them  time  to  look  less  foolish,  and  her  to  conceal  a 
little  titter  in  the  clatter  of  china  and  silver.  General 
Aide-de-Camp  Neriguine  was  already  attacking  his  break- 
fast, and  Count  Kotchinine  was  presented  to  Sacha  in  the 
airy  fashion  which  the  relaxed  etiquette  of  even  a  royaj 
yacht  permits — making  people  feel  less  wooden  and  more 
at  home.  This  last  was  a  tall,  passably  good-looking 
youth,  somewhere  between  twenty-five  and  thirty;  body 
and  soul  a  soldier,  but  outside  of  his  profession  not  ex- 
traordinarily bright.  "I  always  thank  Providence," 
Daria  often  said,  "that  the  lights  of  Art,  Science,  and 
Civilization  were  not  entrusted  to  Basil-Demetrieff,  for  he 
would  assuredly  have  left  the  world  in  darkness.  As  it 
is,  he  could  not  be  trusted  with  the  care  of  a  rabbit  un- 
less that  rabbit  wore  a  uniform." 

He  was  the  escort  par  excellence,  a  man  to  march  into  the 
mouth  of  a  cannon,  or  cheerfully  face  a  troop  of  cannibals 
single  handed,  but  social  graces  he  had  none;  and  this 
morning  his  presence  added  no  brilliancy  to  a  meal  al- 
ready lacking  entrain,  where  conversation  chiefly  con- 
cerned the  enormousness  of  the  strawberries,  the  splendor 
of  the  roses  scattered  by  the  chief-steward's  skilled  hand 
about  the  table-cloth,  and  the  balminess  of  the  faint  breeze 
dancing  in  from  every  side. 

The  first  stages  of  the  trip  toward  the  mountains  were 
commonplace  and  wearisome  enough,  and  it  was  only 
when  they  all  got  into  their  saddles  at  the  beginning  of  the 

1 60 


SNOW-FIR^ 

golden  slope  leading  to  the  foot-hills  that  something  like 
individuality  had  a  chance  to  develop  again.  To  every 
one  of  the  party  save  Daria  and  her  servants  this  was 
all  new,  and  so  grandly  silent  and  lonely  that  those  who 
travelled  thus  for  the  first  tune  could  not  but  be  impressed, 
although  well-used  to  the  awesome  solitudes  of  the 
Russian  steppes.  The  two  women,  in  their  khaki  riding- 
dresses  and  sun -helmets,  were  exceedingly  business- 
like and  good  to  look  at,  besides  which  they  were  both  of 
the  agreeable  kind  that  make  no  trouble  for  the  men  ac- 
companying them.  There  were  no  complaints  of  fatigue, 
the  warmness  of  the  drinking-water,  or  the  length  of  the 
hours  spent  hi  pushing  through  the  tufted  dyss,  when  the 
sands  had  disappeared  aiid  had  been  replaced  by  soil  of  a 
deep  chrome  color  that  merged  by  slow  and  delicate  pink 
gradations  into  a  dusky  red.  The  vegetation,  too,  was 
growing  more  vigorous  and  of  a  less  powdery  grayness; 
here  and  there  a  pale,  oddly  shaped  floweret  peeped 
timidly  from  a  shelter  of  queer  leaves,  or  a  covey  of 
partridges  rose  from  under  a  clump  of  sword-like  grasses 
with  a  whir  of  wings  which  somehow  or  other  had  a 
civilized  and  European  sound. 

Daria  and  Neriguine  led  the  way,  while  Sacha  rode  be- 
tween the  two  younger  men  just  ahead  of  the  household, 
who  in  turn  preceded  the  pack-horses.  She  was  rather 
more  silent  than  usual,  though  occasionally  her  girlish 
laughter  rang  out  on  the  bright  air,  but  this  was  chiefly 
when  poor  Kotchinine  indulged  in  some  remark  which  was 
intended  to  be  quite  instructive,  and  was  therefore  pro- 
portionately dull.  These  observations,  mostly  of  a  military 
character,  Were  not  improved  by  the  all-pervasive  desert 
dust  or  the  speaker's  generous  determination  to  place  the 
subject  within  the  comprehension  of  the  inferior  feminine 
mind.  Alain  had  once  or  twice. to  bite  his  mustache  in 

161 


SNOW-FIRE 

order  to  refrain  from  untimely  hilarity — a  temptation  by 
no  means  abated  when  he  observed  that  the  rough  soldier 
was  beginning  to  show  unmistakable  signs  of  being  more 
than  attracted  toward  their  irresistible  companion.  Poor 
Basil-Demetrieff  was  not — alas  for  him! — one  to  inspire 
jealousy,  despite  his  martial  and  undeniably  manly  ap- 
pearance. 

"This,"  he  remarked  once,  pointing  to  the  opening  of 
the  gorge  before  them,  "would  be  an  ideal  place  for 
ambuscading  with  about  half  a  regiment.  Notice, 
Princess,  how  handy  those  rocky  spurs  over  there  would 
be;  besides  which  both  precipices" — they  measured  there 
perhaps  forty  or  fifty  feet — "being  dotted  with  riflemen, 
where  would  the  enemy's  chance  come  in,  pray?"  He 
dropped  his  reins,  brought  his  riding-crop  to  his  shoulder, 
and  shouted,  with  amazing  ardor :  "  Piff ,  paff,  pouff !  Down 
those  Arabs  would  tumble,  biting  the  dust,  while  not  a 
shot  could  touch  the  sharp-shooters  crouching  up  there." 

He  swung  his  crop  to  left  and  right,  brought  it  down 
with  a  resounding  smack  upon  his  horse's  neck,  and  after 
he  had  succeeded  in  reassuring  the  amazed  and  offended 
animal,  returned  to  his  post  of  honor  with  a  triumphant 
smile.  ' '  Ordnance ,  of  course , "  he  solemnly  rebegan , ' '  could 
not  be —  But  perhaps  you  are  not  attracted,  Princess,  by 
these  highest  interests  of  ours,  though  I  do  assure  you 
the  French — whom  personally  I  do  not  like,  but  cannot 
help  admiring  under  certain  military  aspects — have  done 
much  creditable  work  of  this  sort." 

Sacha,  as  soon  as  she  could  trust  herself  to  speak,  threw 
a  malicious  little  glance  toward  Alain,  and  replied,  a 
trifle  tremulously :  "  You  forget  that  Monsieur  de  Coetmen 
is  a  Breton,  which  in  these  degrading  times  officially 
means  a  Frenchman." 

"He!"  Kotchinine  remonstrated.  "Bah!  he  is  no  more 

162 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  Frenchman  than  I  am.  We've  taken  that  label  off  him 
long  ago.  To  be  sure,  when  I  spoke  I  didn't  remember  he 
was  there  at  all — which  makes  it  all  right,  doesn't  it  ?  But 
now  I  think  of  it — I  say,  old  comrade,  can  you  by  any 
chance  tell  me  whether  that  yarn  about  Kabyles  being 
blond-haired  and  blue-eyed — the  old  Gothic  strain — has 
any  foundation?" 

"  Here  comes  one,  at  any  rate,"  Alain  imperturbably 
responded,  as  from  a  cut  through  the  red  hill  a  tall  native 
jumped  into  the  coulee,  dragging  after  him  a  diminutive 
gray  donkey  loaded  down  with  shaggy  fagots  of  small 
twigs.  The  man's  kouffie,  blown  back  by  the  fresh  moun- 
tain breeze,  disclosed  a  clear-tanned  blue-eyed  face,  by 
no  means  ill-looking. 

"A  foundation — or  a  Kabyle?"  Kotchinine  asked,  staj- 
ing  hard  at  the  new-comer. 

"Both,  in  one  and  the  same  person;  a  confirmation  not 
to  be  despised  of  what  you  so  lightly  call  'a  yarn.'" 

"What  does  he  speak,  do  you  suppose? — French?" 

Alain  burst  out  laughing.  "  Why,  no,  you  idiot ;  Kabyle, 
of  course.  Do  you  intend  to  address  him?"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Hurry  up,  then,  for  that  small  jackass  is  going 
a  good  pace  downhill  now,  and  your  mount  will  have  to 
run  in  order  to  catch  him." 

But  whatever  Captain  Count  Kotchinine's  intentions 
may  have  been,  they  were  frustrated  by  two  or  three 
guttural  cries  that  set  the  little  beast  and  its  fagots  into 
a  comical  gallop,  the  man  running  swiftly  alongside. 
"  Do  you  think  he's  going  to  give  the  alarm  ?"  he  exclaim- 
ed, with  an  eager  smile  that  showed  two  rows  of  white, 
rather  pointed  teeth.  "  Because  I  can  easily  overtake 
and  silence  him." 

Alain  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  Sacha's 
laughter  rang  out  again,  uncontrollably.  "These  are 
12  163 


SNOW-FIRE 

peaceful  regions,"  she  gasped,  at  last.  "Why  do  you 
want  to  start  a  war  ?' ' 

"I?"  he  asked,  helplessly— " a  war ?" 

Further  brilliancies  were  obviated,  however,  by  the 
sudden  halting  of  the  head  of  the  little  caravan.  The 
first  traces  of  higher  vegetation  had  been  showing  for  some 
time,  and  now  between  two  clumps  of  stunted  pines  every- 
body dismounted  to  get  some  lunch  and  let  the  horses  be 
watered  and  fed.  '  In  a  twinkling  a  cloth  had  been  laid 
on  the  rough  turf,  and  soon,  thanks  to  the  promptness  and 
excellent  management  of  Sava,  the  Grand-ducal  travel- 
ling butler,  a  tempting  collation  was  spread  before  the 
hungry  travellers. 

"Oh,  I  hope  we  have  not  nearly  arrived!"  Sacha  ex- 
claimed. "This  mode  of  journeying  is  simply  delicious." 

Daria's  eyes  turned  quickly  to  the  pretty  speaker,  and 
smiled  back  at  her.  "No,  we  won't  arrive  before  sun- 
down. Bel- Abbes  proper  is  at  the  head  of  this  somewhat 
ill-wooded  gorge,  which  winds  itself  pretty  well  up  into 
the  foot-hills — not  very  lofty  ones,  as  you  see.  But  after 
we  pass  Bel-Abbes  and  some  so-called  forests  belonging 
to  me,  we  descend  again  toward  my  heterogeneous 
'Caprice' — which  is  excessively  Algerian  in  appearance 
from  the  outside  and  much  less  so  within,  but  to  me  de- 
licious as  it  stands — and  also  into  a  warmer  zone,  since  I 
come  there  only  in  the  heart  of  the  winter." 

"  Is  it  really  so  very  lonely?"  Sacha  asked  again. 

"  Oh,  thoroughly  so !  The  old  Smala  of  Spahis  is  at  Bel- 
Abbes,  and  holds  my  foresters.  You  will  be  surprised  at 
the  success  they  have  had  there.  Why,  almost  any  day 
you  can  meet  carts  loaded  with  real  logs  on  the  roads — 
for  we  have  some  pretty  decent  apologies  for  roads,  though 
rather  deeply  rutted.  Not  at  the  'Caprice,7  however. 
There  we  go  back  to  the  sand  again,  and  more  than  a 

164 


SNOW-FIRE 

hint  of  desert  grandeur:  typical  sunsets  and  moonrises, 
palms,  mud  walls,  and  behind  us  amethystine  moun- 
tains to  break  all  possible  monotony." 

"That  sounds  pleasing,"  General  Neriguine  comment- 
ed, putting  down  on  his  silver  plate  the  appetizing  slice  of 
truffled  pdte  he  was  devouring  with  the  vim  of  a  cadet 
at  a  picnic.  "And  might  I  ask  if  there  is  game  there?" 

"Plenty,"  Daria  answered;  "and  of  a  kind  you  will 
enjoy,  I  promise  you." 

Always  a  small  eater,  she  rose  unceremoniously,  and, 
walking  toward  the  horses,  began  to  feed  the  Tiaret  stallion 
she  had  been  riding  with  biscuits  and  squares  of  sugar — 
much  to  that  unspoiled  animal's  surprise,  apparently, 
since  his  ears  had  been  laid  back  suspiciously  at  her 
approach. 

"Those  brutes  are  famed  for  their  viciousness,"  Kotch- 
inine  judiciously  warned  those  still  sitting  around  the 
cloth;  but  the  breeze  carried  well,  and  Daria's  hearing 
being  of  the  acutest,  she  turned  and  cried  back  to  him: 

"  Not  quite  that.  Males  are  sometimes  brutal,  but 
viciousness  is  a  female  quality.  This  little  fellow  here  is 
as  good  as  gold."  And  as  if  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  she  bent,  passed  under  the  animal's  belly,  and 
began  to  rearrange  his  halter  more  comfortably  on  the 
other  side. 

"By  Jove!"  ejaculated  Kotchinine.  And,  turning  to 
the  General,  he  whispered:  "She's  a  terribly  imprudent 
woman!"  A  remark  that  experienced  commander  seemed 
not  to  have  heard,  for  he  went  on  sipping  his  burgundy 
like  the  connoisseur  he  was. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Palms  and  rich  vine  leaves  graced  the  tawny  walls, 

Low  towered  and  square,  that  hung  above  the  way 
High  on  a  spur  of  steepest  slope,  that  falls 

Down  to  a  torrent-gorge  of  bowlders  gray; 

Behind,  long  violet  shapes  of  mountains  lay, 
Floating  and  soft;  before — a  savage  view 

Of  sands  that  quivered  to  the  molten  day, 
Yellow  and  dun,  save  black  rocks  near  a  few — 
Afar  the  desert  ran  to  meet  the  bending  blue. 

As  from  a  peak,  the  loneliest  and  last, 

All  Heav'n  and  half  a  world  were  hence  descried; 

Out  of  the  furnaced  East,  a  splendor  vast, 

Sprang  the  red  sun  in  Afric  strength  and  pride, 
Stole  the  pure  crescent,  that  the  distance  wide 

Became  a  sea,  and  climbing  through  the  night 
Thronged  the  clear  stars  in  silence,  wonder-eyed; 

And  peace  abode  within,  and  waters  light 

Down-rilling  charmed  the  ear,  as  all  things  else  the  sight. 

M.  M. 

THE  "Caprice"  was,  perhaps,  the  greatest  piece  of 
originality  to  which  Daria  had  ever  treated  herself.  A 
curious  semi- Arab  structure  that,  from  some  aspects, 
seemed  almost  Italian,  its  walls  of  rough  stone  laid  in 
mortar  of  a  like  tint  were  of  a  uniform  burnt  biscuit  shade, 
though  here  and  there  a  projecting  balcony  was  arched 
over  by  something  resembling  dull  brick,  while  others 
were  sheltered  beneath  sheets  of  split  bamboo,  resting 
upon  columns  lighter  in  color — almost  white,  in  fact. 
Palm-trees,  crowned  high  up  by  long  recurving  fronds, 
brushed  with  their  lower  branches  the  edge  of  the  flat 

166 


SNOW-FIRE 

oriental  roof.  On  one  side  the  thick  wooden  doors  and 
jalousies  were  painted  a  greenish-blue;  on  the  other,  a 
succession  of  huddling  additions  showed  very  few  windows, 
and  those  small  and  square — some,  indeed,  being  suggestive 
of  loopholes  and  gun-play.  Before  it  the  desert  stretched 
away  to  limitless  horizons,  and,  as  Daria  had  said,  neigh- 
boring spurs  of  the  mountains  projecting  like  spearheads 
into  the  yellow  sands,  showed,  according  to  the  hour, 
amethyst  or  purple  or  golden  red  against  the  scintillating 
blue  sky. 

A  little  disappointed  by  the  smallness  of  the  trees  about 
Bel- Abbes — which  appeared  to  be  scattered  in  the  disorder 
of  flight,  and  seemed  of  a  curious  scaliness  of  trunk  and 
dulness  of  foliage — as  also  by  the  unpretentious  bordj, 
the  barracks  of  the  ancient  Smala,  Sacha  and  her  com- 
panions greeted  the  "Caprice"  with  genuine  enthusiasm 
when  they  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  it,  bathed  in  the 
splendor  of  the  last  sun-rays  peeping  above  a  bank  of 
cloudy  fire.  The  sight  was  well  worth  seeing,  and  slowly, 
almost  reluctantly,  the  small  troop — for  the  household 
and  guides  had  taken  the  advance  at  a  sharp  trot  half  an 
hour  before,  in  order  to  set  all  in  readiness — descended  the 
last  undulations  of  the  glorified  foot-hills. 

Count  Kotchinine,  fascinated  by  Daria's  proficiency  in 
matters  equestrian,  was  riding  on  her  left  hand,  the  right 
being  occupied  by  the  General,  and  Sacha  was  left  to 
Alain. 

"Oh  look!"  she  cried,  suddenly  pointing  to  an  irregular 
band  of  softest  green,  limned  about  with  a  metallic  sheen 
so  pale  it  might  have  been  called  silver,  away  up  in  the 
heavens  above  the  fusion  of  scarlet  and  copper  and  gold 
that  boiled  around  the  sinking  sun.  "  That  is  real,  pure, 
true  green,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Alain  replied,  scarcely  listening  for 

167 


SNOW-FIRE 

looking  at  the  little  ungloved  hand  raised  so  enthusias- 
tically upward. 

"Well,  it's  a  good  omen,  isn't  it?"  she  peremptorily 
demanded. 

"For  the  future."  It  was  an  assent  rather  than  a 
question.  His  voice  was  full  of  feeling,  and  not  quite  as 
even  as  usual. 

"Yes — certainly!"  Alas  for  Alain,  her  thoughts  were 
not  of  him  just  then.  In  a  flash  the  young  hussar  re- 
membered a  sentence  overheard  months  ago  from  General 
Neriguine  to  Countess  Dermetchieff:  "Mind  what  I  tell 
you;  Sacha-Basilievna,  beautiful  and  sweet  as  she  is,  will 
bring  ill-luck  to  every  man  who  loves  her!"  The  words 
had  lain  dormant  in  his  memory,  and  now  suddenly  sprang 
into  life  again. 

"Why  in  the  world  don't  you  answer?"  the  impatient 
little  Princess  demanded. 

"  I  was  thinking  about  what  you  said,"  faltered  Alain. 
"  Do  you  mean  luck  for  yourself  alone,  or  for  others  too  ?" 

Sacha's  mind  was  still  lingering  at  St.  Petersburg 
among  the  flowers  of  her  winter-garden,  not  to  mention 
several  other  winter-gardens  belonging  to  friends.  "To 
me  and  what  I  love,  of  course!"  she  said,  irritably.  "  Can't 
you  understand?" 

Alain's  heart  nearly  stopped  beating.  Ah !  if  she  meant 
what  he  scarcely  dared  to  hope,  let  the  ill-luck  fall  on  him. 
Afterward,  what  would  he  care  ?  To  hold  her  once  in  his 
arms,  to  see  those  velvet-soft  eyes  raised  to  him  in  tender- 
ness— what  would  the  succeeding  future  matter  to  this 
soldier  heart,  always  ready  for  strife  and  pain  ?  Yet  it 
was  too  soon  to  speak — he  felt  that,  whatever  the  provoca- 
tion; and  in  the  simplicity  of  his  soul  he  replied,  hardly 
above  a  whisper:  "Pray  God  that  it  will  be  so,  and  that, 
come  what  may,  you  will  be  happy  always!" 

1 68 


SNOW-FIRE 

Something  in  his  tone  roused  her  from  her  dangerous 
reverie,  and  she  shivered  slightly.  Alain,  gazing  straight 
before  him  to  avoid  temptation,  did  not  notice  this,  nor 
the  two  great  tears  that  slipped  quickly  down  her  cheeks. 
When  he  turned  at  last  they  were  following  the  three 
others  into  the  enclosure,  and  servants,  both  native  and 
Russian,  were  running  forward  from  all  sides  to  receive 
them. 

Late  that  night  Sacha  sat  on  the  curious  balcony  of  her 
room — one  more  incongruity  in  the  confused  and  yet 
charming  ensemble  of  the  building,  when  taken  in  contrast 
with  the  thoroughly  comfortable  and  European  interior. 
Its  low  enclosing  walls  of  some — to  her — unexplainable 
material,  its  slender  straight  columns  supporting  a  flat 
tent  of  finely  interlaced  bamboo,  and  the  flowering  potted 
plants  fastened  in  rows  upon  the  narrow  parapet,  looked 
their  quaintest  and  prettiest,  bathed  as  they  now  were  in 
moonlight. 

The  hour  of  reaction  was  upon  her.  The  hurried,  al- 
most precipitate  flight  from  St.  Petersburg  to  the  Medi- 
terranean, the  leisurely  crossing  of  the  water,  then  the 
trip  to  the  point  where  horses  had  to  be  resorted  to,  and 
finally  the  arrival  at  the  "Caprice  " — a  change,  complete  as 
an  apotheosis,  to  utter  quiet  and  calm  of  a  quality  never 
known  before — left  her  relaxed  and  unnerved;  half  in- 
clined to  credit  the  illusion  of  her  tired  eyes  that  the 
scattered  groups  of  trees,  descending  scoutlike  from  the 
last  gradations  of  the  foot-hills,  were  stealthily  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer.  To  her  right,  great  waves  of  silvered 
sand  followed  one  another  into  the  far  dimness ;  a  moveless 
sea,  unspeakably  awesome  and  magnificent.  Far  away 
a  cock  crowed  shrilly,  awakened  doubtless  before  his  time 
by  the  extraordinary  brilliance  of  the  moon ;  and  after  a 
little  the  faint  twang  of  a  rustic  guzla  drifted  up  from  the 


SNOW-FIRE 

native  servants'  quarters,  lodged  behind  a  trellis  covered 
with  bougainvillier  in  full  bloom. 

Her  thoughts  were  one  weary  jumble,  incessantly 
mingling  the  old  and  the  new :  those  left  behind  and  those 
now  presumably  sleeping  within  these  very  walls.  Her 
impossible  mother  amid  the  Russian  snows,  her  dancers 
and  courtiers  of  so  short  a  while  ago,  the  Grand-Duchess's 
affectionate  kindness,  Count  Neriguine,  the  gallant  and 
witty  old  soldier;  Kotchinine's  amusing  blunders  and 
irrepressible  martial  ardor — even  the  ex-non-commissioned 
officer  of  Spahis,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  his  long  gray 
mustache  and  medalled  breast,  who,  assisted  by  his  stout- 
ish,  good  -  humored  wife,  was  the  caretaker  of  Daria's 
property  here,  passed  through  her  mind  like  the  figures  of 
some  unmeaning  pantomime,  while  she  clung  childishly  to 
one  of  the  slender  pillars  as  if  for  protection.  Suddenly  it 
seemed  that  Serge  and  Alain  were  there  with  her  in  the 
solemn  night,  both  holding  out  entreating  arms,  and  this 
picture  of  her  overstimulated  imagination  was  so  clear 
that  a  little  moan  broke  the  limpid  silence. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?"  she  tried  to  ask  herself.  "  Whom 
can  I  trust?"  And  her  last  remnant  of  nerve  deserting 
her,  she  slipped  to  her  knees  and  burst  into  tears,  both 
arms  thrown  across  the  parapet,  her  whole  slim  figure 
rocking  to  and  fro  in  deepest  distress. 

Not  very  far  away  Alain,  sleepless  too,  sat  in  the  deep 
embrasure  of  his  window,  gazing  unseeingly  on  the 
marvels  that  stretched  before  his  eyes.  Again  and  again 
he  endeavored  to  probe  his  heart  to  its  deepest  depths, 
trying  to  discover  whether  he,  a  de  Coetmen,  could  ever 
resign  himself  to  the  role  of  what  the  world  would  call  a 
fortune-hunter.  What  would  his  father  and  mother  have 
said  to  so  great  a  downfall  from  their  own  unstained  and 
antiquated  ideas  of  honor?  They  had  never  been  rich 

170 


BALCONY      OF     THE     VILLA      IN       THE     SAHEL 


SNOW-FIRE 

at  any  time  of  their  lives,  and  yet  they  had  been  happy 
beyond  all  dreams.  She,  with  her  perfect  loveliness  un- 
framed  by  the  glitter  of  jewels  or  the  gracious  adjuncts  of 
luxury,  had  held  an  almost  unequalled  place  at  the  foreign 
Court  to  which  her  birth  and  her  husband's  distinguished 
services  to  the  Crown  had  brought  her,  in  spite  of  her 
protestations  and  her  love  of  all  that  was  quiet  and  simple. 
He  remembered  her  with  particular  vividness  to-night: 
that  exquisite  woman,  blond  as  ripe  corn,  her  large  gray 
eyes  so  very  like  his  own,  and  her  ever-present  tenderness. 
If  Alain  was  what  he  was,  he  certainly  could  thank  the 
gentle  guidance  of  his  mother's  hand,  which  he  often  used 
to  think  was  gloved  in  so  soft  a  velvet  that  it  needed  no 
guarantee  of  steel. 

Would  this  mother,  Catholic  and  Bretonne  above  all 
things,  approve  of  her  only  son,  the  Chef  de  la  Famille  et 
des  Armes  now,  marrying  a  woman  of  the  Greek  religion, 
sewn  with  millions  ?  He  loved  Sacha  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  nature,  but  would  even  this  excuse  have  served 
under  the  circumstances  ?  Once  she  had  said  to  him  dur- 
ing the  delights  of  a  short  sojourn  on  the  Breton  coast — 
a  joy  seldom  possible  to  them:  "  Our  Kings  have  forsaken 
us,  my  Alanik,  and  with  them  centuries  of  our  well-earned 
glory  have  gone  too  ;  only  our  pride  is  left,,  a  very  old  in- 
heritance, which  we  must  preserve  and  cherish  to  the  last 
— under  every  circumstance  and  every  sky.  Since  you 
have  to  be  brought  up  as  a  Russian,  my  prayer  is  that 
you  will  show  yourself  worthy  of  the  kindness  and  regard 
shown  to  you  and  yours.  Later,  your  sword — a  foreign 
one,  but  true  and  strong — will  be  very  nearly  your  sole 
and  only  fortune.  Keep  it  always  bright  and  free  and 
ready  for  those  you  serve;  but  remember  the  fashion  in 
which  your  ancestors  understood  how  to  do  this,  and  draw 
it  for  duty  alone ;  never  for  gain.  '  Front  to  the  enemy ' 

171 


SNOW-FIRE 

must  be  your  motto,  both  spiritual  and  temporal.  Have 
no  weakness,  I  should  add,  but  I  know  that  a  man's  code 
is  broader  than  ours,  so  I  will  only  say  this:  Never  put 
yourself  in  the  place  of  one  who  has  to  lower  his  eyes." 

The  gray-green  waves  of  the  Atlantic  were  dying  at 
their  feet  in  fringes  of  ivory  foam — and  now,  as  if  awaken- 
ing from  a  trance,  Alain,  his  mother's  beloved  Alanik,  sud- 
denly straightened  himself ,  and  gazed  wonderingly  at  the 
silver  undulations  stretching  endless  and  immobile  before 
him,  with  an  overpowering  feeling  of  homesickness  and 
regret.  Had  the  desert-sea  been  frozen  from  shore  to 
shore,  he  could  not  have  felt  colder  than  he  was  just  then: 
cold  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  and  the  heart  of  his  soul ! 
It  may  have  been  at  that  very  moment — it  must  have 
been — that  Sacha  crouched  on  her  balcony,  sobbing  con- 
vulsively, as  though  she  had  lost  all  that  made  life  worth 
the  living. 

When  those  two  met  again,  at  any  rate,  an  impalpable 
barrier  seemed  to  have  arisen  between  them,  and  the 
stupidity  of  Kotchinine  was  chosen  to  enliven  a  desert 
ride  in  preference  to  Alain's  companionship,  erstwhile  so 
highly  prized.  Nor  did  Alain  mourn  this  defection,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  for  he  wanted  to  be  alone;  and, 
a  gun  thrown  across  the  crook  of  his  arm,  he  wandered 
away  toward  the  dyss-scrub,  accompanied  by  one  of 
Daria's  priceless  retrievers.  Daria  herself  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen,  having  left  the  "Caprice"  on  horseback  at 
daybreak  to  make  an  inspection  of  her  woods ;  while 
General  Neriguine,  in  solitary  possession  of  the  place, 
smoked  his  after-breakfast  cigar  in  a  shady  nook  of  the 
garden,  and  reflected  sagely  upon  the  delights  of  com- 
manding an  escort  in  a  country  void  of  all  imaginable 
dangers — at  least  just  then. 

Side  by  side,  Sacha  and  her  clumsy  admirer  travelje4 

IN 


SNOW-FIRB 

on,  silently  at  first.  His  wits  went  so  far  as  to  allow  him 
to  notice  that  "his  lady"  was  unusually  silent,  and 
though  he  was  certainly  lacking  in  tact,  his  excellent  heart 
advised  him  to  try  and  cheer  her  up  a  bit.  A  gallop  on 
these  elastic  sands,  when  mounted  upon  a  high-bred  Arab 
horse,  is  perhaps  the  most  invigorating  thing  in  the  world, 
being  given  that  the  weather  happens  to  be  cool ;  and  half 
an  hour  of  this  wholesome  medicine,  reinforced  by 
Kotchinine's  heavy  playfulness,  took  effect  upon  Sacha's 
mood.  She  soon  tired,  however,  of  her  companion's  in- 
terminable military  pleasantries,  and  deciding  for  this  and 
other  reasons  to  make  him  talk  of  something  else,  she 
abruptly  landed  him  in  Petersburg  society.  By  name 
and  parentage  he  belonged  to  the  best,  being  not  only  en- 
titled to  an  enviably  high  position,  but  able  to  hold  it  by 
reason  of  his  wealth — advantages  which  his  martial  mania 
held  in  slight  esteem.  Still,  Russian  mess-rooms  are  not 
without  cause  celebrated  for  their  merciless  gossip,  and 
dead  though  he  was  to  civil  life,  he  could  not  quite  help 
following  the  social  small  talk  of  his  order.  So  when 
questioned  with  some  cleverness,  he  was  able  to  give  a 
pretty  good  account  of  himself,  and  a  sternly  prejudiced 
and  not  over-refined  one  of  the  gay  butterflies  of  the 
Guards,  or  his  comrades  of  the  regular  cavalry. 

Slowly  and  stubbornly  did  Sacha  conduct  her  campaign, 
asking  about  this  or  that  officer  with  whom  she  had 
danced,  until  by  imperceptible  gradations  she  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  Serge  Urlansky  on  the  tapis. 

"  Urlansky?  Do  you  know  him?"  Kotchinine  demand- 
ed, with  altogether  too  much  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"Yes,  very  well,"  Sacha  replied,  turning  in  her  saddle 
to  look  back  at  the  green  and  white  stain  of  the  "  Caprice," 
now  far  distant.  "And,"  she  continued,  "I  found  him 
a  very  pleasant  and  agreeable  cavalier." 

173 


SNOW-FIRE 

"You  astound  me!"  came  heavily  from  the  big  man  at 
her  side.  "  I  should  have  thought  that  a  woman  of  your 
sort  wouldn't  like  such  a  fancy  man." 

Sacha  drew  herself  up  stiffly.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
a  fancy  man,  Basil-Demetrieff  ?"  she  demanded,  in  a 
voice  veiled  by  anger,  and  perhaps  apprehension. 

"Pardon  me;  I'm  afraid  I  did  speak  rather — er — crude- 
ly. But  how  could  I  guess  that  you  didn't  know  his — 
failings  ?  Every  one  in  Petersburg  does." 

"Pray  speak  out,  now  that  you  have  said  so  much!" 
she  ordered.  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  hinting  at." 

"Hinting  at — why — "  Here  the  miserable  babbler 
remembered,  rather  late,  that  he  was  the  Grand-Duchess's 
guest,  and  turned  absolutely  purple  with  embarrassment. 
"I've  done  it  for  fair  now,  since  she  did  not  know,"  he 
reflected,  and  gathering  himself  together  he  prepared  to 
arrange  the  facts  as  his  instinct  might  dictate — an  instinct 
which  seldom  served  him  well. 

"When  I  said  a  fancy  man,"  he  slowly  elaborated,  "I 
meant  a  Squire  of  Dames — you  understand — a  man  who 
does  not  scruple  to  help  himself  to  other  men's  wives;  who 
gets  himself  entangled  in  ladies'  trains  a  great  deal  too 
much." 

Sacha  interrupted  him  furiously  there.  "  Have  you  any 
proof  of  what  you  say?"  she  threw  at  him  over  her 
shoulder.  And  instead  of  taking  warning,  the  intolerant 
Kotchinine,  goaded  by  these  signs  of  a  contrary  opinion, 
took  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and  blundered  savagely 
through  his  good  resolutions. 

"Proofs!  Proofs!"  he  almost  roared,  "why, what  sent 
him  away  from  home — can  you  tell  me  that,  and  at 
a  minute's  notice  too  ?  Well,  an  intrigue  with  a  beautiful 
married  woman  whose — er — family  became  tired  of  seeing 
her  compromised  irremediably  by  a  handsome  good-for- 

174 


SNOW-FIRE 

nothing  rascal,  of  high  family  and  low  morals,  if  you  want 
to  know  it !  The  liaison  had  so  far  lasted  longer  than  any 
of  his  other  noisy  ones,  and  he  was  obliterated — yes, 
obliterated — by  means  which  you  can  guess :  a  trumped-up 
disturbance  among  his  peasantry,  a  wild-goose  chase,  or 
some  other  easy  pretext!" 

Sacha  had  let  her  horse  subside  into  a  veritable  crawl, 
and  her  reins  lay  so  limply  across  her  knee  that  she  scarce- 
ly held  them  at  all,  while  her  eyes,  darkening  to  their 
deepest  brown,  grew  fixed  and  harsh.  Full  of  his  sub- 
ject, however,  Kotchinine  did  not  give  himself  leisure  to 
notice  anything  in  particular,  and  plunged  further  into 
the  mire  with  renewed  zest. 

"  A  man  like  Urlansky,  and  several  of  his  comrades  well 
known  to  me,  is  dangerous.  .  So  plausible,  so  chivalrous,  so 
youthful-looking — a  mere  boy,  one  might  swear !  Spoiled 
by  every  one,  without  exception.  They  say  he  brags 
that  no  woman  to  whom  he  has  laid  siege  has  ever  resisted 
him.  A  paladin,  indeed,  this  fine,  brass-bound  Chevalier- 
Garde,  dragging  his  sword  after  him  into  all  sorts  of  ques- 
tionable adventures.  We  know  him  and  his  little  ways — 
and  I  for  one  have  always  longed  for  a  chance  to  tell  him 
to  his  face  what  I  think  of  him.  But  I  don't  travel  much 
in  his  crowd." 

Her  face  was  chalk- white,  and  she  was  struggling  to 
hold  herself  together  until  she  should  be  once  more  alone. 
Feeling,  notwithstanding,  that  an  answer  was  necessary, 
she  forced  herself  to  murmur  something  about  her  not 
having  thought  it  possible  for  men  to  be  so  wicked! 

"That's  just  it!"  he  cried,  in  his  always  unnecessarily 
loud  voice.  "That's  just  it!  Women  think  they  can 
judge  us  men,  whereas  they  are  as  unfit  to  do  so" — and 
here  he  made  an  expressive  pause — "  as  a  pigeon  to  judge 
of  the  range  of  a  gun !  Now  we  have  a  glaring  example 


SNOW-FIRE 

of  feminine  injustice  right  here  at  the  'Caprice,'  and  in  the 
person  of  de  Coetmen.  Should  Urlansky  be  in  his  place, 
Madame  Buridan,  the  female  ex-Spahi  herself,  would  be 
at  his  feet ;  while  because  he  is  a  gentleman  in  every  sense 
of  the  word,  the  very  soul  of  honor,  and  a  splendid  soldier 
too,  but  self-contained,  retiring,  and  never  anxious  to 
glitter  or  push  himself  forward,  Alain  has  no  successes.  If 
all  Bretons  are  like  him,  they  are  a  race  I  shouldn't  mind 
becoming  acquainted  with."  And  rendered  confidential 
by  his  own  eloquence  Kotchinine  suddenly  concluded,  in 
lowered,  almost  pathetic  tones,  "  I  like  and  admire  de 
Coetmen  immensely.  Don't  you?" 

"I — I — "  the  bewildered  and  sorely  tried  Sacha  re- 
joined, "  I  scarcely  know  him  intimately  enough.  But  he 
does  seem  likable  —  at  least  as  far  as  I  have  been  able 
to—" 

"  Judge !"  the  other  interrupted.  "  I'll  bet  five  hundred 
rubles  that's  what  you  were  about  to  say!  Judge,  indeed! 
Have  you  even  done  him  the  honor  of  looking  at  him?" 

" Looking  at  him ?  Why,  yes,  of  course!"  she  could  not 
help  replying.  "But  what  for?" 

"What  for?"  Kotchinine  turned  squarely  in  his  saddle, 
and  gazed  in  stupefaction  at  her.  "Because  he  is  ex- 
cessively good  to  look  at,  I  think ;  and  also  because  you 
may  not  often  have  a  chance  of  seeing  his  like.  On  the 
other  hand,"  he  added,  suddenly,  "  I'd  just  as  soon  you 
wouldn't  look  at  him  too  much,  because — because — well, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  I'm  not  over-eager  to  see  you 
falling  in  love  with  him." 

Sacha  gathered  up  her  reins,  made  her  horse  pivot  with 
a  savage  twist  at  the  bit,  and,  red  now  to  the  very  tips  of 
her  little  ears,  said  curtly: 

"Time  to  go  home.  This  sand-glare  has  given  me  a 
fearful  headache!"  The  truth  of  which  statement  she 

176 


SNOW-FIRE 

bore  out  a  little  later  by  sliding  in  a  dead  faint  into  his 
arms,  as  he  helped  her  down  at  the  arched  door  of  the 
"Caprice." 

In  something  under  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Madame 
Buridan,  an  expert  matron  versed  in  the  diagnostic  and 
healing  arts,  owing  to  her  long  sojourn  in  "  wild  parts,"  as 
she  expressed  it,  had  revived  the  patient;  and  dosed  her 
so  ably  that,  although  she  did  not  appear  at  luncheon,  she 
entered  the  dining-room  punctually  at  eight,  looking  al- 
most herself,  save  for  a  slight  blue  shadow  beneath  her 
eyes,  and  an  air  of  languor  about  her  whole  person  that 
suited  her  not  at  all,  especially  as  she  had  elected  to  wear 
a  dead-white  silk  gown,  made  with  nunlike  simplicity, 
and  not  a  single  jewel  or  flower  to  enliven  its  heavy  folds. 

Daria,  on  the  contrary,  was  at  her  very  best,  draped  in 
silver  gauze  and  palest  green — delicate  as  if  made  from 
that  very  ribbon  of  sky  that  Alain  and  Sacha  had  ad- 
mired together  the  evening  before — and  with  half-a-dozen 
creamy  roses  at  her  breast,  held  in  place  by  a  crescent  of 
great  diamonds  relieved  by  flawless  emeralds.  Her  arms 
and  shoulders,  celebrated  throughout  Europe  for  their 
sculptural  beauty,  shone  in  this  setting  like  faintly  tinted 
marble,  while  her  long  hair,  twisted  helmet-fashion  about 
the  head,  gave  her  a  certain  resemblance  to  Makart's 
Diana.  Beside  the  drooping  Sacha,  she  was  so  astonish- 
ingly youthful  and  lovely  that  every  man  stared  at  her, 
fascinated,  as  she  took  her  place  at  the  table. 

She  laughed  and  chatted  throughout  the  meal  with 
inimitable  brio,  rallying  Sacha  on  her  lack  of  appetite, 
Alain  on  his  silence,  exchanging  witticisms  with  General 
Neriguine,  who  too  seemed  unusually  full  of  verve,  and 
even  going  so  far  as  to  discuss  military  topics  with 
Kotchinine  in  a  bantering  tone  which  failed  to  conceal  a 
very  real  knowledge  of  the  subject  in  hand. 


SNOW-FIRE 

Poor  Sacha,  making  violent  efforts  to  swallow  a  few 
morsels,  lost  much  of  this  by-play;  and  yet  in  an  unex- 
plainable  manner  she  suddenly  felt  Daria's  crushing 
superiority.  A  woman,  evilly  married  to  an  evil  man,  who 
was  old  enough  to  be  her — Sacha' s — mother,  and  to  spare; 
who  had  borne  sorrow,  disappointment,  disillusion, 
humiliations  without  number,  and  yet  rose  after  every 
blow  stronger  and  more  admirably  tempered.  Fatigue 
was  a  joke  to  her,  annoyance  she  never  showed,  while  her 
talents  were  legion,  and  her  regal  beauty  as  unimpaired 
as  her  capacity. for  enjoyment,  or  that  unconquerable  wit 
which  even  now  was  keeping  the  table  in  gusts  of  laughter. 
What  was  she  herself  beside  such  a  creature?  A  pale, 
washed-out,  easily  moved,  or  disheartened  girl — clinging 
first  to  one,  then  to  another,  for  support,  swayed  by  every 
passing  breeze  like  some  unresisting  plant  that  lacks  a 
prop.  Tears  were  very  near  her  eyes,  and  her  throat  con- 
tracted painfully  as  she  drew  the  contrast.  Defeated  and 
distressed  beyond  measure,  she  raised  appealing  eyes,  and 
met  Alain's,  filled  with  a  great  tenderness  and  pity. 
Swiftly  the  blood  rose  to  her  white  cheeks,  her  thickly 
fringed  lids  drooped  again,  and  a  thrill  of  sudden  joy  and 
comfort  ran  through  her.  Serge's  defection,  her  moth- 
er's cruelty  and  selfishness,  the  world's  emptiness  and  dis- 
appointments, seemed  drowned  in  one  great  peaceful  wave 
of  happiness ;  and  indeed  for  one  moment  she  was  happy ; 
but  immediately,  like  galloping  furies,  the  anxieties  which 
had  beset  her  lately  came  rushing  on  her  again,  and  chief 
among  them  was  remorse. 

She  had  perhaps  too  readily  believed  Count  Kotchinine's 
statements — and  yet,  after  a  glance  across  the  glittering 
surtout  at  that  honest,  heavy  face  of  his,  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  accuse  him  of  slander.  Moreover,  many  little 
incidents  of  her  frequent  meetings  with  Serge,  unobserved 

178 


SNOW-FIRE 

at  the  time,  now  crowded  her  remembrance.  Trifles  only, 
but  trifles  pointing  to  one  fact:  that  he  was  not  altogether 
a  free  man.  The  hour  of  several  appointments  had  been 
changed  by  him  at  a  moment's  notice,  with  embarrassed 
apologies  that  after  all  explained  nothing.  More  than  one 
invitation  to  dinner  had  met  with  the  same  ill-luck,  and 
during  certain  soirees  spent  at  Court,  or  in  Court  circles, 
the  young  man  had  appeared  in  a  new  light,  a  shy  and 
uncomfortable  light  which  contrasted  oddly  with  his 
usual  dashing  ways.  She  guessed  now  that  he  was  afraid 
of  being  watched,  for  hadn't  he  then  eluded  her,  or,  when 
forced  to  speak  to  her,  done  so  with  a  formality  quite 
absent  upon  other  occasions?  Yet  the  truth  lay  too 
close  to  her  to  be  seen. 

The  whole  evening  was  a  torture,  and,  as  soon  as  she 
decently  could,  she  fled  to  her  own  apartments,  leaving 
the  others  to  their  cigarettes  and  yellow  tea  on  the  little 
esplanade  fronting  the  desert. 

"  Is  Sacha-Basilievna  still  ill,  do  you  think  ?"  Kotchinine 
asked,  watching  her  white  dress  disappear  between  the 
oleanders  blossoming  riotously  around  the  house.  "She 
did  not  eat  a  thing  at  dinner,  and  she  looked  ghastly." 

"111?"  Daria  exclaimed,  "not  a  bit  of  it.  She  is  like 
all  Russian  women  of  her  age :  extraordinarily  nervous  and 
impressionable;  and  the  quick  change  of  climate,  the 
excitement  of  the  voyage,  and  the  startling  difference  be- 
tween our  life  here  and  that  which  she  has  been  used  to 
lead,  fully  account  for  her  attitude  to-night.  In  a  day  or 
two  she  will  be  quite  herself,  I  assure  you." 

Nevertheless,  Daria  was  not  quite  as  optimistic  as  she 
pretended  to  be,  and  felt  instinctively  that  something 
must  have  happened — and  something  rather  serious  at 
that — to  so  greatly  upset  a  girl  of  Sacha's  temperament. 
No  letters  had  reached  her  as  yet,  for  the  courier  brought 
13  179 


SNOW-FIRE 

the  mail  only  twice  a  week.  Then,  also,  this  fainting  fit, 
caused  "by  the  heat  of  the  sun"  had  something  about  it 
not  quite  natural,  she  thought.  Might  not  that  simple- 
minded  warrior,  Basil-Demetrieff,  have  said  something 
that  caused  all  this  disturbance  ?  Daria  sat  up  suddenly 
in  her  bamboo  chair,  and  threw  her  cigarette  into  a  clump 
of  begonias,  where  it  continued  to  burn  among  the  broad 
leaves  like  an  exaggerated  glow-worm. 

"That's  it! — that's  probably  it!"  she  angrily  decided. 
"Imbecile!  What  the  mischief  can  he  have  told  her?" 
And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  seemed  to  know.  "  Serge!" 
she  thought — white  now  as  Sacha  had  been.  "Serge — 
some  silly  gossip  which  may  cost  us  all  dear,  and  me  more 
than  I  may  be  able  to  endure." 

Energetic  as  ever,  she  roused  herself,  resumed  the  con- 
versation, and  managed  at  last  by  skilled  twists  and  turns 
to  bring  it  round  to  the  morning's  ride. 

"  Was  it  really  very  hot  on  the  sand  ?"  she  asked  Kotch- 
inine.  "  I  found  it  deliciously  cool  myself,  when  I  took 
a  short  cut  from  the  forester's  house  across  a  league  of 
desert." 

"It  wasn't  hot  at  all;  in  fact  the  wind  was  quite  re- 
freshing," he  replied. 

"Ah!     And  how  did  you  like  your  first  gallop  there?" 

"Enormously.  And  so  did  Princess  Sacha  for  a  time 
— when  she  began  to  be  a  bit  blown,  I  thought." 

General  Neriguine  "and  Alain,  having  stolen  a  leaf  from 
Kotchinine's  book,  were  sunk  to  the  ears  in  military  mat- 
ters, and  Daria  was  able  to  talk  quite  freely.  "It's  not 
at  all  like  her  to  be  easily  tired,  now  I  come  to  think  of 
it,"  she  slowly  remarked.  "Was  she  as  lively  as  usual 
during  the  beginning  of  your  little  excursion,  or  did  you 
notice  any  alteration  in  her  from  the  first?" 

"None  whatever,  Imperial  Highness!"  the  heavy 

1 80 


SNOW-FIRE 

cavalryman  declared.  "  She  was  more  silent  than  she 
ordinarily  is,  at  first.  Then  she  talked  Petersburg  gossip 
by  the  yard,  and  that  to  me,  may  it  please  Your  Imperial 
Highness,  who,  outside  of  military  circles,  know  hardly 
enough  of  the  subject  to  fill  a  walnut  shell." 

"But  military  circles  have  their  own  gossip — and  very 
piquant  it  is  at  times,"  she  argued,  turning  upon  him  a 
smile  so  .dazzling  that  his  rather  rough-hewn  visage 
crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  his  short-cropped  hair. 

"The  Princess,  at  any  rate,  did  not  seem  to  think  so!" 
he  stammered — D aria's  eyes  and  smile  were  never  en- 
countered by  the  masculine  element  with  impunity  under 
any  clime — "for  she  became  as  dumb  as  a  fish  while  I 
was  giving  her  some  of  it." 

"  Dumb  as  a  fish  is  hard  on  poor  Sacha,"  thought  Daria, 
"but  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  now.  She  pumped  the 
idiot  about  Serge,  and  all  that  remains  for  me  to  find  out 
is  whether  he  will  have  had  the  incredible  audacity  to 
mention  my  name!"  Aloud  she  said,  jestingly,  "It  is 
not  given  to  everybody  to  understand  such  matters,  and 
Sacha  is  still  a  mere  baby."  Then,  raising  her  voice,  she 
announced  that  the  night  was  getting  positively  chilly, 
and  that  she  for  one  was  going  to  retire — a  statement 
which  brought  the  three  men  to  their  feet,  at  the  salute, 
before  the  words  were  well  out  of  her  mouth,  and  in  that 
position  they  remained  until  her  shimmering  draperies 
had  also  disappeared. 

Softly,  noiselessly,  she  passed  up-stairs,  and  along  the 
thickly  matted  corridor  leading  to  Sacha' s  rooms,  full  of 
her  determination,  yet  uncertain  of  the  means  she  would 
employ.  On  tiptoe  she  turned  a  corner,  and  with  in- 
credible delicacy  of  touch  slowly  pressed  the  handle  of  a 
small  door  almost  concealed  by  an  Algerian  portiere. 
Certainly  the  hinges  were  superlatively  oiled,  thanks  to 

181 


SNOW-FIRE 

Buridan's  perfect  care  for  detail  in  and  out  of  the 
"Caprice,"  for  it  yielded  at  once  without  even  the  ghost 
of  a  creak,  and  holding  her  skirts  tightly  in  the  left  hand, 
so  as  to  prevent  their  rustling,  she  glided  across  the 
dressing-room  and  peeped  cautiously  through  the  opposite 
door,  from  which  came  nothing  but  utter  silence. 

Step  by  weightless  step,  she  advanced  into  the  large 
sleeping-chamber,  all  flooded  with  that  clear  African 
moonshine  which  enables  one  to  read  a  letter  or  a  book 
of  the  finest  print.  Once  she  paused,  and  a  quiet  regular 
breathing  from  the  corner  where  the  bed  nestled  amid 
floods  of  gauze,  emboldened  this  unhesitating  woman  to 
draw  close  to  the  sleeper,  and  while  she  was  doing  so  her 
versatile  mind,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety,  was  photographing 
a  mental  picture  of  the  pretty  tout  ensemble  before  her. 
The  wide-open  windows — squares  of  deep  silver-shot  blue, 
with  now  and  again  the  graceful  silhouette  of  palm- 
fronds  bowing  to  the  desert  wind — the  crystal  and  gold 
paraphernalia  of  the  duchess  toilet- table,  draped  like  the 
bed  with  cascades  of  lace  and  gauze,  and  the  patches  of 
faint  color  shot  by  the  moon  through  the  upper  blinds  of 
curious  Soudanese  manufacture  athwart  the  snow-white 
matting  covering  the  floor,  impressed  themselves  upon 
her  artistic  sense,  so  as  never  again  to  be  forgotten. 

On  the  pillows  Sacha  lay  sidewise,  almost  buried  be- 
neath the  unbound  wealth  of  her  hair.  One  small  hand 
rested  on  the  silken  coverlet,  the  other  held  something 
to  which  her  lips  were  still  pressed.  Daria,  her  heart 
beating  hard,  bent  lower  and  lower.  Would  she  have  to 
wrench  Serge's  picture  away,  and  then  face  this  im- 
pertinent girl,  and  tell  her  to  whom  Serge  and  all  that  was 
of  Serge  belonged?  She  was  capable  of  doing  it,  she 
knew,  and  with  a  shiver  of  anguish  she  waited  until  the 
broad  rays  from  the  lowering  moon  would  touch  the  bed. 

182 


SNOW-FIRE 

Minutes  it  was,  perhaps,  that  she  waited  there — perhaps 
much  longer — she  never  knew;  but  suddenly  she  straight- 
ened up  with  a  stifled  gasp. 

It  was  not  Serge  who  had  been  sought  as  consoler:  it 
was — herself — Daria!  The  dainty  velvet  frame,  with  its 
interlaced  initials  and  Imperial  crown  in  brilliants,  which 
she  had  given  Sacha  a  few  days  before,  burnt  her  staring 
eyes;  nay,  even  the  delicate  miniature  it  contained  looked, 
soft  and  clear  as  in  daylight,  back  at  the  watcher. 

She  had  not  been  betrayed,  then;  she  was  still  the  idol 
of  this  wayward,  childish  heart. 

Two  tears  gathered  in  the  Grand  Duchess's  eyes — the 
first  since  Serge's  departure.  Very  softly  she  touched 
the  mass  of  silky  hair,  and  the  gesture  was  akin  to  a 
benediction.  Then  like  a  shadow  she  retraced  her  steps. 

"She  does  not  know,"  she  murmured,  gently,  drifting 
toward  her  own  part  of  the  house.  "  Thank  God  for  that ! 
All  she  has  found  out,  probably,  is  that  Serge  is  not  a  fit 
husband  for  her — and,"  she  added,  half  aloud,  pausing  for 
an  instant,  "  is  it  not  true  ?"  She  stood  still  as  a  statue  for 
a  long  moment.  "Yes,  it  is  true,  true,  true!"  she  con- 
cluded in  a  mere  whisper,  "because  of  many  things, 
besides  his  being  mine!"  And  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh 
she  went  on  her  way,  letting  her  train  ripple  now  un- 
restrainedly behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"Ich  dien";  no  shield's  emblazoned  front 

Bore  words  more  fitting  royal  breath, 
Since  age  and  blindness  sought  the  brunt 
Of  battle  and  of  death. 

M.  M. 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  then  another,  at  the  "Palace  of 
Thought"  in  the  dolce  far  niente  of  the  pine-perfumed 
sands, and  more  and  more  did  the  "  Caprice"  deserve  its 
sub-title,  since  its  five  inmates  seemed  chiefly  occupied 
by  their  meditations,  agreeable  or  otherwise,  excepting 
at  meals,  which  continued  to  be  gay  and  homelike. 

Daria's  great  maxim,  whether  she  entertained  a  large 
or  a  small  party  at  one  of  her  numerous  country  places, 
was  to  let  her  guests  do  just  as  they  pleased,  after  having 
put  at  their  disposal  every  and  any  means  of  amusement 
within  her  reach.  She  herself  continued  to  lead  her  own 
life  according  to  her  own  tastes,  though  always  ready  to 
join  in  any  sport  or  recreation  when  her  quick  perceptions 
told  her  that  her  presence  would  bring  an  added  zest  to 
it.  Here,  she  had  decided  to  keep  herself  absolutely  in 
the  background,  so  as  to  give  Alain  and  Sacha  a  fair 
chance  of  becoming  better  acquainted.  With  the  same 
object  in  view,  she  interested  Count  Kotchinine  so  deeply 
in  the  military  topography  of  the  region,  herself  giving 
him  what  she  called  in  her  perfectly  informed  way  a  little 
"  topo "  of  the  neighboring  country,  that  half  of  that  en- 
thusiastic soldier's  time  was  spent  galloping  hard  in  one 

184 


S  N  O  W  -  F I  R  E 

direction  or  another,  searching  for  more  intimate  knowl- 
edge concerning  the  manner  in  which  "those  fire-eaters 
of  Spahis"  had  done  things.  Again  and  again  she  in- 
vited General  Neriguine  to  accompany  her  on  long  "  for- 
esting" rides,  and  thus,  without  any  apparent  effort  or 
manceuvering,  her  aim  was,  as  usual,  very  smoothly  and 
successfully  attained. 

Several  gossipy  letters,  written  in  her  mother's  "deli- 
cate Italian  hand  "  on  the  thinnest  of  paper,  outrageously 
perfumed  with  gardenia,  and  conscientiously  criss-crossed, 
so  as  to  make  the  task  of  deciphering  them  as  difficult  as 
possible,  came  for  Sacha  at  regular  intervals,  but  in  none 
did  she  discover,  after  working  her  hardest  over  them, 
the  least  crumb  of  comfort  or  encouragement.  The 
latest  one,  indeed,  thoroughly  exasperated  her  by  an 
ambiguity  which,  fortunately  for  her,  she  found  herself 
utterly  unable  to  comprehend. 

"The  greatest  mystery"  (it  ran  in  part)  "continues  to  en- 
velop your  erstwhile  admirer  Serge  Urlansky's  curious 
disappearance  .  .  .  and  you  will  understand,  my  dear  child, 
that  Petersburg's  curiosity  is  whetted  thereby  to  a  keenness 
of  surmise  that  ends  by  being  amusing!  Of  course,  every- 
body at  first  thought  he  had  been  ordered  away,  to  put  a 
stop  to  a  certain  liaison  which  was  becoming  almost  marital 
in  this  age  of  quick  shifts  and  changes.  But,  hist!  as  they 
say  in  Dumas'  sword- and-spur  novels,  it  would  be  ill  ad- 
vised in  more  senses  than  one  for  us  to  discuss  this,  the 
original  belief.  Now  we  hear,  whispered  behind  fans,  that 
he  did  not  leave  alone,  but  was  accompanied  to  God  knows 
where  by  a  new  flame  of  exceeding  brilliancy  and — lightness. 
This  may  or  may  not  be  so,  of  course.  Still,  being  given  the 
amorous  adventures  of  which  he  has  made  himself  the  hero 
since  his  tender  youth,  poor  fellow,  what  can  one  think? 
I  have  my  own  theories,  of  course,  and  maybe  they  are  fruits 
that  spring  from  richer  soil  than  the  others,  though  not 
q-u-i-t-e  ripe  enough  as  yet  to  be  picked  for  one's  dearest 

185 


SNOW-FIRE 

friends!  By-the-way,  are  you  wholly  certain  that,  like  the 
knights  of  old,  he  has  not  crossed  the  Mediterranean  for  the 
honor  of  his  lady?  If  such  be  the  case,  be  as  wise  as  the 
serpent  and  not  quite  so  harmless  as  the  dove,  for  you  might 
find  yourself  in  a  difficult  position  should  you,  as  is  your  wont, 
be  deaf  to  your  mother's  advice.  Curiously  enough,  other 
disappearances  almost  as  mysterious  have  occurred  lately, 
including  that  of  General  Neriguine,  that  boor  of  a  Count 
Kotchinine,  and  your  fine  Breton  Marquis.  None  know 
where  they  are.  Have  they  followed  in  the  track  of  our 
blond  Chevalier  -  Garde  ?  Personally  that  handsomest  of 
youths  always  reminded  me  of  a  statue  at  a  Royal  banquet 
I  once  attended.  It  was  exquisitely  moulded — I  mean,  of 
course,  the  statue — from  frozen  cream,  tinted  delicately  with 
raspberry  juices.  Its  features  were  absolutely  Apollonian, 
and  a  gorgeous  helmet  of  gold-leaf  decorated  its  head.  The 
rest  of  the  costume  I  pass  rapidly  over,  as  it  consisted  mostly 
of  golden  chain-mail  traceries  and  ditto  laurel  leaves.  What 
befell  this  masterpiece  must,  alas!  be  mentioned,  were  it  only 
as  a  commentary  upon  fascinating  individuals  who  elect  to 
occupy  lurid  positions.  The  unfortunate  pink-and-white 
knight,  toward  the  decline  of  the  feast,  suddenly  tottered 
.  .  .  and  fell  headlong  from  his  pedestal,  greatly  to  the  cost 
of  some  high  personages,  whom  he  very  nearly  obliterated  in 
his  overwhelming  descent  (remember  he  was  life-size — 
heroic  life-size),  and  caused  no  end  of  damage!  But  enough 
of  this  banter — ". 

And  here  Madame  Nazoumoff  airily  reverted  to  other 
topics  which  her  undutiful  daughter  neglected  to  read. 
Instead,  she  uncomfortably  perused  the  legend  of  the 
gilt  chevalier  over  and  over  again,  with  no  better  result 
than  a  bad  headache,  for  poor  Sacha  seldom  guessed 
puzzles  easily. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  crossing  the  esplanade  to 
order  the  saddling  of  her  favorite  horse — for  she  had 
grown  reconciled  to  gallops  in  the  desert,  and  judged  that 
just  such  a  diversion  would  do  away  with  her  exaspera- 
te 


SNOW-FIRE 

tion — when  she  met  Daria,  bent  on  the  same  purpose 
but  minus  the  nervous  headache. 

"What!  Alone?"  the  Grand-Duchess  asked.  "Where  is 
the  Cavaliere-servente,  please?" 

"  If  Your  Imperial  Highness  means  Monsieur  de  Coet- 
men,  he  is  out,  I  believe,  hunting  partridges.  I  was 
about  to  ride  out  as  far  as  the  oasis,  escorted  by  Abdallah, 
but  perhaps  you  need  his  services  yourself,  Madame?" 

"  Not  in  the  least;  but  if  you  will  accept  my  escort  in 
preference  to  Abdallah's,  I  should  like  to  accompany  you 
myself!" 

Sacha,  blushing  with  pleasure,  followed  her  idol  into 
the  "yard,"  where  they  stood  watching  the  horses  being 
taken  out  of  their  stable.  Meanwhile  Daria  was  noticing 
the  worn  and  harassed  look  of  her  companion.  She  had 
long  sought  a  "natural"  opportunity  to  do  a  bit  of  pry- 
ing into  that  girlish  heart,  and  therefore  eagerly  wel- 
comed the  present  chance.  For  ten  minutes  or  so  the 
two  women  rode  side  by  side  without  speaking,  amused 
by  the  wild  gambols  of  the  six  or  seven  sloughis  who 
circled  wildly  about  them  in  their  joy  at  being  made  free 
of  their  native  wastes,  and  it  was  Daria  who  first  broke 
the  silence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sacha?"  she  asked,  in  her  usual 
gently  abrupt  tone.  "  I  am  not  pleased  with  your  looks 
for  a  few  days  past.  You  are  worrying  about  something, 
that  is  plain  to  see,  and  since  I  believe  you  are  fond  of 
me,  you  should  tell  me  what  it  is.  Two  heads — especial- 
ly when  one  of  them  is  so  much  older  than  the  other — 
are  of  better  counsel  than  one.  Now,  come,  what's  an- 
noying you?" 

Sacha  moved  restlessly  in  her  saddle,  and  changed  her 
reins  from  the  right  to  the  left  hand.  Being  a  woman, 
she  ached  to  speak;  but,  after  all,  was  she  justified  in  so 

187 


SNOW-FIRE 

doing,  since  truth  compelled  her  to  confess  to  herself 
that  Serge  had  never  even  as  much  as  hinted  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  an  engagement  between  them? 

So  she  continued  to  fidget  in  a  fashion  extremely  irri- 
tating, but  said  no  word. 

"  You  understand  that  I  do  not  wish  to  force  your  con- 
fidence," Daria  resumed,  with  a  perceptible  diminution 
of  the  friendliness  with  which  she  had  begun.  "  You  are 
here  in  my  care,  alone  with  me,  and  I  naturally  feel  as 
if  you  should  turn  to  me  in  trouble.  But  if  it  annoys  you, 
let's  talk  of  something  else." 

"No!  no!"  protested  the  easily  fluttered  girl,  gazing 
pleadingly  up  at  her  intimidating  chaperone.  "To  no 
one  on  earth  would  I  sooner  tell  all!  But  most  of  my 
troubles  are  imaginary,  I  think.  I  am  such  a  goose,  you 
know — so  why  vex  Your  Imperial  Highness  with  them?" 

"Are  you  in  love  with  anybody?" 

Crimson  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  which  paled  almost  to 
whiteness  by  contrast  with  that  rosy  wave,  Sacha  stam- 
mered :  "  I — I  thought — that  is,  I  had  imagined  I  was — 
interested — no  more,  I  assure  you — in  somebody — some- 
body I  looked  up  to  as  a  hero — a  demi-god  even,  but  whom 
I  have  found  out  is  made  of — of  clay,  and  not  fine  clay, 
either.  So  I  feel  queer  and  miserable  from  sheer  dis- 
appointment— that's  all;  and  I  do  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  been  so  sulky  of  late." 

"Nonsense!  You  have  not  been  sulky,  poor  little 
thing!  But  I'm  afraid  you  are  uselessly  trying  to  break 
your  heart.  Men  are  seldom  worth  so  much  trouble, 
nor  women  either,  which  makes  it  altogether  a  very 
thankless  process.  Let  me  ask  you  just  one  question. 
Did  this  particular  man  ever  propose  to  you,  or  in  any 
way  give  you  clearly  to  understand  that  he  meant  to 
do  so?" 

188 


SNOW-FIRE 

This  time  it  was  Daria  who  averted  her  face,  and 
stared  fixedly  at  the  blowing  palms  of  the  still  distant 
oasis.  Her  heart  was  beating  like  a  trip-hammer,  and 
the  beautiful  features  Sacha  could  not  see  were  set  and 
hard. 

"N-n-o-o,"  she  hesitated;  then  repeated  a  more  de- 
cided "No!  It  would  be  absolutely  untrue  to  say  he 
did;  it  was  more  his  attitude  —  a  word  here,  a  word 
there — that  deceived  me,  I  suppose.  But  coming  from 
him  they  seemed  important — decisive,  somehow."  Her 
voice  broke,  and  Daria,  veering  round,  put  one  hand  on 
her  arm. 

"He  never  told  you  he  loved  you, did  he?"  she  asked, 
with  an  underlying  fierceness  that  luckily  escaped  Sacha, 
sunk  deep  in  the  shame  of  her  confession.  Her  head  was 
drooping  wearily,  but  she  looked  bewitching  in  her  broad- 
winged  sailor  hat  of  rough  straw  and  humble  school-girl 
attitude. 

"Did  he  or  did  he  not?  Surely  you  remember  that 
much!" 

Forced  behind  her  last  entrenchments,  she  murmured, 
very  low:  "  No  ...  he  ...  he  did  not,  but  he.  ...  Oh,  well!" 
she  concluded,  in  an  exasperated  half-whisper,  "  he  looked 
as  if  he  wanted  to  do  so  all  the  time!" 

Daria  raised  her  hand  from  the  other's  arm  with  the 
lightness  of  a  butterfly,  straightened  herself  in  her  sad- 
dle, and  turned  upon  Sacha  a  face  still  startlingly  white, 
but  rigid  no  longer. 

"You  really  are  a  little  goose!"  she  said,  with  a  smile, 
"and  you  seem  to  have  brewed  for  yourself  a  rather  big 
storm  in  a  very  small  tea-cup!"  She  knew  her  Serge  and 
his  tender  glances,  which  were  as  natural  to  him  as  sing- 
ing to  a  nightingale.  They  had  unfortunately  set  fire  to 
the  girl's  imagination,  but  so  slight  a  blaze  would  soon 

189 


SNOW-FIRE 

be  extinguished;  and  though  she  permitted  herself  a  few 
silent  objurgations  toward  the  far-off  Caucasus  between 
her  even  white  teeth,  she  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  at  the  thought 
that  faith  had,  after  all,  been  kept  so  well. 

"You  really  think  he  meant  nothing?"  poor  Sacha  al- 
most implored,  with  one  tiny  spark  of  hope  left  struggling 
in  the  confusion  of  her  brain.  "  You  really  think  he  was 
merely  flirting?" 

"Eh?  How  am  I  to  reply  to  such  a  question  when 
you  have  told  me  so  little!"  Daria  exclaimed,  impatiently. 
"  All  I  know,  so  far,  is  that  some  good-looking  young  fel- 
low— he  is  handsome,  I  take  it,  or  you  would  not  have 
fallen  in  love  with  him  on  such  slight  provocation — gave 
you  a  few  soft  looks,  sweet  speeches,  and  probably  floral 
offerings.  Why,  child,  every  pretty  girl  is  bombarded 
with  such  as  soon  as  she  begins  to  put  on  long  skirts; 
and  if  she  is  wise  she  pays  no  attention  to  these  common- 
place pyrotechnics  until  the  right  man — or  what  she  has 
good  reason  to  think  is  the  right  man — happens  along." 

"But,"  Sacha  retorted,  in  her  vexation,  "I  did  believe 
with  all  my  soul  and  heart  that  Serge" was  the  right  man!" 

"Serge?"  the  Grand- Duchess  asked, with  marble  calm- 
ness. "  What  Serge  ?  There  are  a  few  of  them  in  Russia. 
Why,  one  might  as  well  call  anybody  'Man'!" 

Furious  to  have  betrayed  herself  so  far,  "Serge  Ur- 
lansky,"  Sacha  said,  sullenly,  and  brought  down  an  ex- 
asperated riding -crop  upon  her  hapless  horse's  neck. 
That  well-behaved  animal  promptly  lost  all  remembrance 
of  a  superior  training,  and  reared  straight  up  like  an  un- 
broken colt.  Daria,  instinctively  mistrustful  of  Sacha's 
equestrian  ability  as  of  her  flighty  little  brain,  caught  the 
cheek-strap  in  mid-air,  and  jerked  him  down  to  a  normal 
position  with  a  force  one  would  scarcely  have  suspected 
in  her  graceful  arm  and  slender  wrist. 

190 


SNOW-FIRE 

"I'm  glad  my  saddler's  work  is  trustworthy,"  she 
laughed,  "else  my  stirrup-leather  and  your  bridle  would 
have  landed  us  in  a  dangerous  heap." 

Sacha  had  turned  white  as  chalk,  not  being  quite  the 
woman  for  unexpected  perils,  and  rode  on  in  a  silence  no 
longer  sulky,  but  induced  by  sheer  emotion. 

"You  should  never  show  temper  to  a  horse,  either 
justly  or  unjustly,"  Daria  coolly  continued,  readjusting 
the  head-piece,  which  now  sat  rather  awry,  her  own  reins 
slipped  meanwhile  over  her  left  arm.  "Now  that  was 
distinctly  unjust,  you  must  admit,  because  it  was  that 
celebrated  breaker'  of  hearts  Count  Urlansky  you  were 
anxious  to  pound  just  now,  and  not  poor  Abd-el-Kader 
here  present — a  very  noble  character,  like  his  namesake 
in  the  nearly  long-ago." 

"I  can't  help  being  angry,"  Sacha,  who  had  recovered 
her  breath,  said,  with  trembling  lips.  "Why,  even  you, 
Madame,  seem  to  know  his  reputation?" 

"Whose?    Abd-el-Kader's?" 

"No;  Serge's." 

"If,"  thought  Daria,  "she  continues  to  call  him  Serge, 
there's  no  guessing  what  I  may  do  or  say."  But  aloud 
she  flippantly  remarked;  "Oh,  his  reputation!  Why, 
everybody  does  who  has  not  been  brought  up  in  a  straw- 
protected  cucumber  frame." 

"And  is  it  true?"  Sacha  could  not  prevent  herself  from 
asking.  "  Is  it  really  true  that  he  has  a — a  liaison  with  a 
married  woman  of  extremely  high  rank,  and  has  scan- 
dalized everybody  in  Petersburg?" 

A  ringing  laugh  came  from  Daria — and  for  a  wonder 
an  entirely  genuine  one.  "Scandalized  Petersburg!"  she 
exclaimed.  "That's  a  trifle  beyond  even  your  hero's 
powers.  Petersburg  is  a  bit  difficult  to  scandalize.  Our 
upper  crust  is  pretty  gay!" 

191 


SNOW-FIRE 

"In  God's  name,  will  not  Your  Imperial  Highness  an- 
swer my  question?" 

Slowly  Daria  turned  toward  her  companion — her  face 
grave  now,  and  very  still. 

"  You  ask  me,  then,  to  tell  you  whether  Count  Urlansky 
has  or  has  had  lately  a  liaison  with  a  married  woman?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  faltered,  "I  do  ask  you,  who  know 
everything.  I  ask  you  on  your  honor." 

A  flush  so  faint  that  it  scarcely  tinged  Daria's  cheeks 
came  and  went.  "  My  .  .  .  honor  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case,  but  I  can  tell  you  the  truth.  Yes;  Count 
Urlansky  has  had,  and  still  has,  a  liaison  with  a  very  un- 
happily married  woman  .  .  .  whose  sole  joy  he  is,  strangely 
enough,  excepting  her  children!" 

Sacha  suddenly  glanced  in  horrified  amaze  at  Daria,  who 
seemed  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  first  green  tufts 
bordering  the  oasis. 

"Oh!"  the  young  widow  cried.  "What  an  unspeak- 
able villain  she  must  be.  Children,  even  little  children  of 
her  own,  do  not  prevent  her  debaucheries!" 

"'Debaucheries'  is  good!"  Daria  dryly  commented. 
Then,  in  the  same  quiet  voice,  she  went  on :  "  Her  children 
no  longer  need  her  immediate  care,  and  I  have  heard  that 
as  long  as  .they  did  there  was  no  Serge  in  her  life,  and  she 
did  not  'debauch,'  to  use  your  remarkably  apt  ex- 
pression." 

"  An  old  woman,  then  ?  Serge  the  lover  of  an  old  wom- 
an! That  is  the  vilest  thing  I  have  ever  heard.  Never 
— never  will  I  speak  to  him  again  as  long  as  I  live !  Think 
of  it — an  old  woman  with  grown-up  sons  and  daughters — 
the  abject  shame  of  it  all!" 

"An  old  woman?"  echoed  Daria.  "Yes,  doubtless,  as 
years  count — and  sorrow  makes  them  no  shorter — but 
in  spirit  and  appearance  not  so  very  old,  perhaps.  One 

193 


SHOW-FIRE 

should  not  judge  without  knowing  .  .  .  nor  .  .  .  leap  to 
conclusions  in  the  dark!" 

"You  know  the  wretched  creature,  then,  Madame? 
You  have  seen  her?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  her  very  well!" 

"And  you — you,  reputed  to  be  so  severe,  pity  her?" 

"I  do,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart!" 

"Why?  Please  tell  me  why!  I  am  confused — be- 
wildered— I  don't  understand." 

"Because,"  Daria  replied,  steering  her  horse  toward 
the  clump  of  palms,  "I  myself  have  lived  long  enough 
to  know  what  ambushes  disappointments,  humiliations, 
and  constant  pain  place  upon  a  woman's  road." 

"She  is  still  beautiful,  then — but  surely  not  beautiful 
enough  to  attract  such  a  man  as  Serge  Urlansky?" 

"  It  must  be  so,  to  judge  from  the  results."  The  Grand- 
Duchess  was  dismounting  in  her  own  fashion,  and  the 
words  seemed  shaken  out  of  her  by  her  bold  spring  from 
the  saddle,  so  odd  did  they  sound.  Sacha,  still  on  horse- 
back, was  staring  at  her  as  a  devout  believer  might  at 
somebody  who  has  driven  a  goat  into  a  church ;  and  Daria, 
having  flung  her  thoroughbred's  reins  upon  the  ground, 
in  token  that  he  was  now  free  not  to  run  away,  came  for- 
ward and  helped  the  girl  down  mechanically,  as  a  man 
might  have  done  when  burdened  with  the  responsibility 
of  some  lovely  helpless  creature;  then,  with  her  long, 
elastic  step,  she  walked  to  the  margin  of  the  desert-well, 
half  hidden  by  verdure,  and  sat  with  hands  clasped  across 
her  knees,  for  she  found  herself  suddenly  tired. 

Sacha  shrinkingly  followed.  She  scarcely  felt  alive. 
This  must  be  some  wild,  open-eyed  dream,  surpassingly 
evil,  which  filled  her  young  mouth  with  the  bitterness  of 
aloe.  Had  she  heard  aright?  Did  her  adored  Grand- 
Duchess  condone  such  horrible  offences  against  God  and 

193 


SNOW-FIRE 

man?  She  paused,  routing  with  her  riding-stick  among 
the  green  blades,  almost  like  European  grass,  growing  at 
her  feet — went  a  little  further  and  gazed  vaguely  at  a 
plant  of  a  darker  tint,  thick  of  leaf,  and  powdered  all  over 
with  what  seemed  tiny  crystal  beads,  but  which  looked 
to  her  like  a  shower  of  tears.  There  was  half  an  acre  at 
least  of  this  peculiar  growth  crawling  close  to  the  earth, 
forming  a  shining  fairy  carpet,  and  before  she  knew  what 
she  was  doing  she  bent  and  broke  off  one  of  the  long 
shimmering  fronds  and  put  it  against  her  wet  cheek.  It 
was  cold  as  ice,  and  she  withdrew  it  almost  in  disgust; 
it  was  as  if  a  corpse's  hand  had  touched  her.  So  strong 
was  the  illusion  that  her  trembling  nerves  made  her  rush, 
panic-stricken,  to  where  Daria's  khaki  habit  made  a  light 
spot  upon  the  verdure. 

"What  is  this?"  she  gasped,  flinging  the  coral-shaped 
branchlet  in  the  Grand-Duchess's  lap.  "  It  is  crying  cold 
tears,  and  feels — oh! — as  the  dead  do!  What  is  it?" 

Daria's  beautiful  eyes  looked  up  at  the  quivering,  un- 
strung girl — there  were  shadows  beneath  them,  and  they 
seemed  larger  than  usual,  but  they  were  as  quiet  as  ever. 

"A  very  pretty  thing.  Some  African  tribes  call  them 
'  tear  stars,'  perhaps  because  the  whole  plant  has  a  starry 
shape.  How  can  it  frighten  you?" 

"It  does — everything  does!"  she  moaned,  throwing 
herself  violently  down,  and  burying  her  face  in  Daria's 
skirt  with  an  hysterical  burst  of  sobs  that  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot. 

Over  her  bowed  head  the  sorely  tried  woman  was  look- 
ing unseeingly  into  the  blue  of  the  sky,  closed  like  a  tur- 
quoise cup  over  the  oasis,  and  touching  the  clear  golden 
rim  of  the  sandy  horizon.  "Must  I  also  console  her," 
she  was  asking  herself — "this  silly,  weak  girl,  who  slaps 
me  in  the  face  with  her  empty  righteousness?"  Then 

194 


SNOW-FIRE 

she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  her  lips  drew  into  an  al- 
most straight  line  as  she  bent  to  her  ungrateful  task. 

"Hear  me,  Sacha,"  she  said,  after  vainly  trying  vari- 
ous little  pats  and  taps  of  encouragement  which  showed 
her  as  inexperienced  as  a  man  could  have  been  under 
such  circumstances  —  for  although  her  three  sons  and 
one  daughter  had  at  times  given  her  trouble — and  griev- 
ous trouble  at  that  —  yet  none  of  them  possessed  effem- 
inate or  overnervous  temperaments.  "Hear  me,  Sacha. 
You  are  not  behaving  well.  All  these  useless  sobs  and 
tears  are  not  in  keeping  with  your  birth  and  breeding!" 

The  slim  form  writhed  across  her  knees,  but  continued 
to  weep  uncontrollably,  and  Daria  felt  that  a  sound 
thrashing  was  strongly  indicated.  But  since  such  violent 
restoratives  were  of  course  out  of  the  question,  she  reached 
sidewise  toward  the  brimming  spring,  and  soaking  her 
handkerchief  in  the  water,  drew  up  the  foolish  little  head, 
and  quickly  applied  the  remedy. 

"Leave — me — alone!"  came  between  sobs,  and  rills  of 
tears  and  cold  water.  "I  ...  wish  I  were  .  .  .  dead!" 

"  You  little  fool!"  Daria  said,  contemptuously.  "  Here, 
now,  get  up  on  your  feet,  and  see  what  a  wreck  you've 
made  of  yourself.  Is  there  any  sense  in  such  behavior?" 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  she  lifted  the  girl  and 
held  her  to  the  perpendicular,  Sacha  meanwhile  clinging 
to  her  as  desperately,  Daria  thought,  as  a  roofer  clings 
to  a  chimney  when  surprised  by  a  sudden  gale.  Aloud 
she  merely  said,  "  You  must  absolutely  pull  yourself  to- 
gether, my  dear";  and  her  tone  was  so  quiet  and  com- 
manding that,  completing  what  the  little  douche  had 
begun,  it  presently  caused  the  agitation  to  lull  itself  into 
silence,  and  something  nearly  resembling  a  return  to  rea- 
son. A  few  moments  more  and  she  was  sitting  beside 
the  Grand-Duchess,  swollen-faced  still,  it  is  true,  but  so 
14  195 


SNOW-FIRE 

far  recovered  that,  after  a  peep  at  her  reflection  in  the 
fountain,  she  hurriedly  smoothed  her  dishevelled  hair, 
washed  her  eyes,  and  resumed  the  becoming  hat  which  had 
rolled  a  few  yards  away  at  the  beginning  of  the  scene. 

Daria  rose  too,  shaking  the  sand  and  blotting  the 
showered  drops  from  her  skirt,  a  little  cynical  smile  curl- 
ing the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "  Beauty  first — good  reso- 
lutions afterward!"  she  mentally  commented.  Nor  was 
she  mistaken  as  to  the  exterior  improvement  acting  bene- 
ficially upon  Sacha;  for  soon  she  stepped  to  Daria's  side, 
and  in  voice  very  nearly  steady,  delivered  herself  of  a 
little  apologetic  speech,  which,  though  creditable,  proved 
a  trifle  disturbing  to  what  was  left  of  Daria's  patience. 

"Pooh!"  was  her  reply,  "you  owe  me  no  excuses,  my 
dear.  I  thought  it  my  clearest  duty  to  imitate  in  your 
behalf  those  Petersburg  'barkers'  who  stand  before  the 
wooden  houses  in  the  suburbs,  crying,  'Mind  the  paint, 
I  humbly  pray  you.  Mind  the  fresh  paint  before  it  is  too 
late!'  Perhaps  my  manner,  though  not  so  doleful  as 
theirs,  was  brusquer,  and  startled  you  a  bit.  But  with 
me  it's  an  affair  of  temperament.  I  like  to  take  my 
fences  straight." 

"You  were  not  brusque,  Madame,  you  were  kindness 
and  consideration  itself."  Here  she  tried  to  kiss  Daria's 
hand,  but  it  was  snatched  away  with  an  "Oh!  don't  be 
silly!"  that  left  no  room  for  further  feminine  wiles. 

"  You  must  see  that  it  is  imperative  for  you  to  end  as 
speedily  as  possible  this  meandering  after  .  .  .  false  gods," 
Daria  continued.  "  With  your  face,  position,  and  fort- 
une you  can  marry  anybody  —  anybody;  but  wait  at 
least  until  you  have  been  asked  to  do  so.  Here  you  are, 
sincerely  believing  your  heart  is  broken  because  you 
have  been  forsaken  by  a  man  who,  according  to  your  own 
statement,  has  never  said  one  honest  or  straightforward 

196 


SNOW-FIRE 

word  of  love  to  you — a  man  who,  as  you  have  been  credi- 
bly informed,  belongs  to  another  woman!" 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Sacha,  with  a  pertness  which  sur- 
prised even  Daria,  "a  man  who  will  forever  make  me 
think  of  the  Cid  flirting  with  a  gray-haired  Chimene." 

"You  are  not  very  moderate  in  your  comparisons," 
Daria  remarked  quietly,  though  decidedly.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  think  less  kindly  of  the  young  widow.  "At 
any  rate,  I  seriously  advise  you,  Sacha,  to  obtain  some 
sort  of  control  over  your  nerves.  It  will  never  do  for  you 
to  go  through  life  throwing  fits  for  every  passing  disap- 
pointment. And  now,  if  you  feel  equal  to  it,  we  had  better 
be  riding,  for  we  really  have  imposed  long  enough  upon 
the  hospitality  of  this  '  peaceful '  oasis." 

She  turned  on  her  spurred  heel,  caught  Sacha's  horse, 
and  holding  the  bridle  with  her  left  hand,  extended  the 
other  to  help  her  guest  remount. 

"Mais  non,  Madame,  mais  non,  jamais  de  la  vie!" 
Sacha  exclaimed,  backing  and  blushing.  "I've  given 
you  enough  trouble  to-day  already!" 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  get  up,  then,  since  Abdallah 
is  not  here?" 

"Just  as  you  will  yourself,  Madame!" 

"  I  hardly  think  so,  because  my  ways  are  imitated 
from  the  Cossack's.  Come!"  This  impatiently,  for  her 
own  nerves,  although,  as  always,  well  in  hand,  were  be- 
ginning to  get  a  shade  restive;  and  when  she  had  put 
Sacha  up,  her  so-called  "Cossack"  fashion  of  getting  into 
her  saddle  was  the  beginning  of  the  tonic  treatment  they 
needed. 

Without  a  word  the  two  women  started  homeward  at 
a  swinging  gallop,  and  it  was  only  when  the  "Caprice" 
came  plainly  into  view  that  Sacha  spoke.  The  rapidity 
of  the  motion  had  given  her  back  the  wild-rose  tints  with- 

197 


SNOW-FIRE 

out  which  her  loveliness  lacked  one  of  its  greatest  charms, 
and  had  partially  effaced  the  redness  of  her  eyes. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  slackening  the  pace — a  departure 
from  etiquette  which  Daria  did  not  even  notice — "I 
think  I  had  best  marry  the  first  man  who  asks  me.  That 
will  at  least  put  an  end  to  this  sort  of  thing!" 

Daria,  now  going  at  an  easy  canter,  gazed  keenly  into 
the  mutinous  little  face. 

"That's  not  nice,"  she  remonstrated,  before  she  quite 
knew  what  her  words  imported  to  herself.  "  Wait,  at  least, 
until  you  are  quite  certain  of  the  feelings  of  both  parties 
concerned!"  Then  she  bit  her  lips  so  hard  that  all  color 
fled  from  them. 

But  to  have  encouraged  the  girl  in  her  present  head- 
strong mood  would  have  seemed  to  her  a  base  and  un- 
worthy action. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

In  truth,  I'd  have  you  follow  your  desire, 

But  still,  unwarned,  you  shall  not  lift  a  hand: 
I  would  not  wish  you  blistered  by  the  fire 
Because  I  need  a  brand. 

M.  M. 

THE  moon — the  only  feminine  thing  that  runs  the  gamut 
of  her  phases  according  to  rule — had  bowed  herself  away 
from  the  heavens  at  her  appointed  time  of  invisibility, 
and  the  evenings  on  the  terrace  were  now  robbed  of  their 
greatest  charm,  in  spite  of  the  glowing  desert  stars  which 
did  all  they  could  to  replace  the  vanished  splendor. 
Nevertheless,  the  quintette  at  the  "Palace  of  Thought" 
continued  to  assemble  in  the  same  place  for  coffee  and 
cigarettes,  nor  were  these  little  gatherings  in  the  least 
overcast  by  the  rather  unpleasant  incidents  that  had 
lately  involved  the  two  women.  As  a  rule,  laughter,  per- 
haps not  always  ringing  wholly  true,  but  still  laughter, 
accompanied  the  tinkling  of  spoons  and  the  scratching 
of  matches;  anecdotes,  wit,  and  gossip  were  exchanged; 
and,  taken  all  in  all,  the  members  of  the  rest-and-pleasure- 
seeking  expedition  seemed  natural  and  happy  enough. 
Kotchinine,  the  buffoon  of  the  party,  although  he  was  not 
purposely  so,  poor  fellow,  was  more  than  once  the  chief 
entertainer.  Indeed,  his  vivid  military  descriptions 
seemed  to  grow  in  intensity  as  time  went  on.  He  was 
positively  enchanted  with  what  he  saw  every  day,  made 
friends  in  every  place  where  people  could  be  met  (and 
Heaven  only  knows  he  visited  the  most  insignificant 

199 


SNOW-FIRE 

settlements  within  reach),  talked  of  the  Kabyles  as 
"splendid  chaps  whom  it  would  be  an  honor  to  com- 
mand," and  went  so  far  as  to  tease  Alain  for  not  having 
taken  service  in  Algeria,  which,  as  he  pointed  out  again 
and  again,  was  de  facto  his  country,  while  Russia —  Here 
Daria  usually  interrupted  him  with  an  appreciative  word 
or  two  anent  the  young  Marquis's  choice  of  a  standard, 
adding  that  their  own  country  would  have  been  indeed 
a  loser  had  things  been  otherwise. 

Alain  had  grown  to  admire  the  Grand-Duchess  with  a 
most  chivalrous  enthusiasm.  Her  faultless  poise  and 
continual  though  unemotional  kindness  made  her,  in  his 
eyes,  the  very  ideal  of  ww  Haute  et  Puissante  Dame,  and 
he  thought  angrily  of  the  tongues  that  circulated  stories 
about  her.  He  did  not  even  believe  she  had  ever  been 
a  coquette.  Her  attitude  of  straightforward,  almost 
manlike,  friendship  toward  himself  was  one  which  it  is 
practically  impossible  for  a  coquettish  woman  to  assume, 
since  the  use  of  the  subtle  feminine  armory  of  glance  and 
gesture  becomes  habitual,  and  to  a  great  extent  im- 
personal as  well.  If  the  thought  of  Urlansky  occa- 
sionally occurred  to  him,  since  Urlansky  was  an  in- 
dubitable fact,  as  often  the  remembrance  of  Grand-Duke 
Stepan  reconciled  him  to  this  sole  apparent  contradiction. 
One  man  explained  the  other  so  naturally. 

Urlansky  had  been  his  friend  ever  since  they  had  en- 
tered the  military  school  together,  in  spite  of  their  dis- 
tinctly different  positions,  for  Serge  even  then  had  been  a 
pampered  petit-maitre — an  object  of  general  admiration 
and  adoration;  while  Alain,  extremely  shy  and  retiring, 
with  a  small  allowance  from  his  widowed  mother — an 
allowance  he  kept  mostly  intact,  so  as  to  be  able  to  bring 
her,  on  the  rare  occasions  of  his  visits,  the  flowers  and  small 
luxuries  she  denied  herself  for  his  sake — was  merely  a 


SNOW-FIRE 

strong,  wholesome  lad  determined  to  make  his  way  in  his 
chosen  career,  and  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  pose  as  a 
martyr  for  so  doing. 

"Why  are  you  such  a  plodder?"  Serge  would  ask. 
"  Why  don't  you  enjoy  yourself  a  bit  now  and  then  ?  It's 
absurd  to  be  such  a  book- worm."  But  Alain  always 
gayly  shook  his  head,  retorting  that  his  "lady-love"  was 
an  exacting  task-mistress  just  because  she  never  asked 
anything  of  him,  and  that  besides  being  the  head  of  the 
family  now,  he  had  duties  that  suffered  no  neglect.  Curi- 
ously enough  that  embryo  butterfly  of  a  Serge  under- 
stood, and  more  than  once  he  drove  to  the  doors  of  the 
little  apartment  where  the  Marquise  de  Coetmen  had 
taken  refuge  after  her  husband's  death,  his  troika  laden 
with  gorgeous  hothouse  blooms  and  choice  hothouse 
fruit  for  the  " blonde-bandeau-ed  Madonna,"  as  he  en- 
thusiastically called  Alain's  mother,  although  already 
there  were  ripples  of  early  silver  in  that  wealth  of  braided 
gold. 

There,  very  often,  he  had  met  the  Empress  or  one  of  the 
Grand-Duchesses,  Daria  more  especially,  sitting  in  the 
small  salon  filled  with  souvenirs,  centuries  old,  brought 
from  Brittany ;  intercrossed  swords  that  had  been  blood- 
stained at  Cocherel  and  Auray,  or  the  sieges  of  Hennebont 
and  Rennes,  not  to  mention  earlier  "bickerings"  where 
Crusaders  had  distinguished  themselves.  Ancient  ban- 
ners drooped  here  and  there  from  the  pale  cretonne- 
covered  walls,  and  here  and  there  too  a  Russian  decora- 
tion in  brilliants  glimmered  on  a  square  of  framed  velvet. 
But  the  tea  was  brought  in  by  a  kammaripiika1  in  cherry- 
colored  kerchief  and  long  fair  braids  falling  to  the  edge  of 
her  short  rough  homespun  petticoat,  her  pretty,  peasant 

1  Chambermaid. 
201 


SNOW-FIRE 

face  crimson  at  the  honor  done  her,  and  her  natural 
clumsiness  a  thousandfold  intensified  by  the  grand  com- 
pany nibbling  her  little  country  cakes  with  obvious  zest. 

Unfortunately,  Madame  de  Coetmen  had  died  at  thirty- 
six,  leaving  poor  Alain  utterly  alone  in  the  world,  a  gawky 
boy  of  eighteen  just  about  to  receive  his  commission  in  the 
army.  The  only  consoler  and  helper  of  the  lonely, 
miserable  lad  had  been,  strangely  enough,  no  other  than 
Serge,  the  brilliant  offspring  of  enormously  rich  parents, 
and  who,  as  a  rule,  thought  of  nothing  but  pleasure  of  a  by 
no  means  doubtful  sort. 

From  that  moment  dated  the  deep-rooted  affection 
which  still  characterized  their  relations,  and  which  had 
caused  the  rather  narrow-minded  Alain  to  accept  unques- 
tioningly  the  wild  escapades  of  his  friend  as  if  somehow 
they  were  part  and  parcel  of  his  destiny,  while  he  himself, 
in  his  brilliant  uniform,  led  more  or  less  the  life  of  an 
anchorite — much  to  the  amusement  of  his  hare-brained 
brother  officers.  Indeed,  later  on  the  friendship  between 
Grand-Duchess  Stepan  and  Serge  had  found  good  and 
solid  excuses  in  Alain's  eyes,  and  now  that  he  was  getting 
to  know  her  better  with  every  passing  hour,  he  saw  more 
and  more  clearly  why  they  were  what  they  were — as  he 
still  supposed  —  to  each  other.  The  thought  that  any 
man  alive  could  ever  try  to  break  with  such  a  woman  did 
not  once  enter  his  head.  Even  the  wide  difference  in  their 
respective  ages — for  the  Grand-Duchess's  sons  were  on  a 
par  with  him  and  Serge  in  years — was  to  him  a  detail  so 
negligible  in  this  peculiar  case  that  it  simply  never  oc- 
curred to  him  that  the  sacrifice  could  be  on  Serge's  side. 

One  afternoon,  as  it  happened,  he  met  Daria  riding 
home  alone  beneath  the  thin  shade  of  the  so-called  forest 
surrounding  Bel-Abbes.  She  was  walking  her  horse,  and 
was  sunk  in  so  deep  a  reverie  that,  on  catching  sight  of 

202 


SNOW-FIRE 

him,  bowing  low  before  her,  sun-helmet  in  hand,  she,  who 
usually  appeared  to  have  no  nerves,  started  almost  as 
violently  as  Sacha  might  have  done.  Alain  was  far  too 
clever  and  observant,  however,  to  preface  his  greeting 
with  regrets  for  having  "frightened"  her.  He  knew  her 
now,  and,  utterly  overlooking  the  telltale  start,  he  merely 
asked,  in  the  most  natural  tone,  whether  he  might  be  grant- 
ed the  honor  of  accompanying  her  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 
Meanwhile  he  was  reflecting  that  to  have  caught  Daria 
off  her  guard  was  a  surprising  thing,  and  that  the  weary 
sadness  of  her  face  a  veritable  revelation. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  you  ride  with  me,  Monsieur 
de  Coetmen,"  she  said,  kindly.  "I  have  been  far  out 
yonder" — pointing  with  her  hunting-crop  at  a  high  sum- 
mit covered  with  those  small  cowering  trees  which  brought 
her  no  despicable  revenue  —  "to  see  one  of  my  under- 
foresters — a  very  curious  character  by-the-bye — another 
retired  Spahi,  a  magnificent  fellow  who  has  made  for  him- 
self there  an  ideal  habitation  out  of  tree  trunks,  mud,  and 
moss.  He  has  chickens  and  pigeons  and  a  couple  of 
ponies,  not  to  mention  a  cow  or  two,  while  his  vegetable 
garden  is  the  very  queerest  spot  on  earth,  I  believe — such 
fruits  and  outlandish  eatable  plants!  You  ought  to  go 
there  some  day." 

"  I  would  like  nothing  better.  But  how  strange  it  is  that 
Your  Imperial  Highness  should  employ  on  this  great 
estate  nothing  but  Frenchmen  or  Kabyles — especially 
seeing  that  Russians  are  first-class  woodmen." 

"Yes — on  their  native  heath,  as  one  might  say,"  she 
smilingly  retorted;  "but  here  it  would  be  vastly  different. 
Here  the  Kabyles,  if  officered  by  ex-Spahis,  do  great  work, 
I  assure  you." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,  Madame."  Alain's 
acknowledgment  of  the  compliment  to  his  fellow -coun- 

203 


SNOW-FIRE 

trymen  was  accompanied  by  a  short,  impatient  sigh  that 
did  not  escape  her,  and  for  a  few  minutes  they  rode  on  in 
a  silence  during  which  she  threw  one  or  two  keen  glances 
at  him. 

"Tell  me,  Monsieur  de  Coetmen,"  she  at  last  said,  "if 
you  feel  like  doing  so — but  not  otherwise,  pray — why  of 
late  you  have  lost  so  much  of  your  contagious  gayety  ?  I 
miss  that  laugh  of  yours  a  great  deal." 

The  color  mounted  slowly  to  the  smooth  tan  of  his 
eminently  Celtic  face,  and  his  eyes  wandered  from  the 
deep-rutted  path  to  a  clump  of  wild  flowers  and  back 
again.  She  would  be  of  good  counsel,  this  graceful 
woman  with  a  man's  soul;  she  could  undoubtedly  point 
the  rights  and  wrongs  of  his  dream  to  him.  Yet  still  he 
hesitated,  although  he  felt  that  she  had  guessed  his  secret 
long  ago,  and  that,  perhaps,  she  was  even  on  his  side. 

"Of  course,"  Daria  quietly  resumed,  "I  have  not  the 
least  figment  of  a  right  to  pry  into  your  life,  but  I  like  you, 
Monsieur  de  Coetmen,  because  you  are  one  of  the  most 
honest  and  clean-hearted  young  men  I  have  ever  met. 
That  is  what  made  me  say  what  I  did  just  now;  so  you 
must  forgive  me." 

Alain,  touched  and  surprised,  glanced  gratefully  at 
her.  "Ah,"  he  could  not  help  saying,  "if  all  women  were 
like  you,  Madame,  how  happy  the  world  would  be!" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "You  know,  then,  how 
to  distinguish  the  false  from  the  true,"  she  replied,  in  slow, 
level  tones,  "  and  you  do  not  always  believe  what  you  hear, 
or" — she  paused  for  a  second — "even  judge  harshly  what 
you  have — reason  to  know." 

This  direct  allusion  to  Serge  made  Alain's  heart  bound 
with  pride  at  such  a  proof  of  trust  from  her.  Indeed, 
as  she  herself  expressed  it,  she  took  her  fences  straight. 

"  Jt  is  difficult,  sometimes,  not  to  judge  others  lightly. 

204 


SNOW-FIRE 

Of  course  I  am  speaking  like  an  ordinary  pedant — but  I 
try  to  never  judge  any  one  unheard;  and  I  am  glad  to 
know  that  here  is  another  proof  of  fellowship  between  us. 
Now  tell  me  as  you  would  your  mother — there  was  a  Saint 
for  you,  the  only  completely  lovable  woman  I  ever  met 
— tell  me,  as  you  would  have  told  her,  what  is  weighing 
on  your  mind.  It  may  be  that  I  can  help  you." 

At  this  mention  of  his  mother  Alain's  eyes  grew  dim, 
and  Daria,  reaching  out  a  small  brown  hand — she  never 
wore  gloves  when  not  absolutely  obliged  to  do  so — 
touched  his  sleeve  in  silent  sympathy.  Impulsively  the 
young  officer  dropped  his  bridle  and  raised  her  fingers  to 
his  lips.  This  little  incident  betrayed  to  him  an  entirely 
new  aspect  of  the  Grand-Duchess's  nature,  besides  which, 
that  "maternal"  touch  from  one  who  looked,  and  knew 
herself  to  look,  so  bafflingly  youthful,  expressed  a  trust- 
ful generosity  difficult  to  overappreciate. 

"I  love  Princess  Sacha,"  he  said,  almost  brusquely, 
afraid  to  give  himself  time  to  think — "  I  love  her  with  my 
whole  heart  and  my  whole  soul ;  but  as  you  know,  Madame, 
I  cannot  ask  for  her  hand." 

" You  —  cannot  —  ask  —  for  —  her  —  hand?"  there 
was  a  genuinely  astonished  dragging  of  the  words.  Evi- 
dently she  did  not  understand.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  have  a  previous — entanglement — engagement?" 
she  hurriedly  corrected. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  looking  fully  at  her  with  unmistak- 
able sincerity.  "No,  my  life,  thanks  to  my  poverty — or 
perhaps  inclinations — has  been  strangely  free  from  com- 
plications. But  doesn't  Your  Imperial  Highnese  under- 
stand that  it  is  just  this  poverty  and  lack  of  position  which 
forbid  me  to  yield  to  temptation  ?  Also — 

"Also  what?"  she  demanded. 

"  Oh !  a  doubt,  well  anchored  and  not  to  be  set  adrift, 

205 


SNOW-FIRE 

about  her  own  feelings.  One  day  she  treats  me — well, 
like  an  equal  (it's  not  quite  what  I  mean,  but  you  will 
understand,  Madame,  I  know),  the  next  with  a  coldness 
and  distance,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  that  raises  a  wall  of 
ice  between  us." 

He  stopped,  and  she  began  to  speak  in  her  quick,  au- 
thoritative way: 

"  Let  us,"  she  said,  "  deal  with  the  first  question.  You 
claim  that  you,  owing  to  your  want  of  fortune  and  posi- 
tion, are  unworthy  of  Sacha  Virianow.  What  absolute 
foolishness!  She  has  loads  of  money,  and  you  have  only 
very  little.  What  does  that  matter  ?  Nothing — nothing 
at  all,  since  you  really  and  sincerely  love  her  for  herself. 
You  would,  moreover,  bring  her  a  name  and  title  cen- 
turies old — our  Russian  ones  are  seldom  worth  anything 
— a  name  and  title,  I  say,  honored  on  the  battle-fields  of 
ancient  France.  You  are  every  bit  as  handsome  as  she 
is  lovely,  7  should  say  far  more  so — and,  let  me  add,  not 
only  are  you  an  officer  of  promise,  but  a  man  in  a  thou- 
sand anywhere.  I  told  you  just  now  that  I  like  you, 
Alain  de  Coetmen;  I  may  go  further  yet  in  all  honesty, 
and  assure  you  that  in  speaking  as  I  do  I  dread  but  one 
thing,  and  it  is  that  Sacha,  pretty,  pure,  and  delicious 
as  she  is,  is  not  worthy  of  you." 

"Oh,  Madame,  Madame!"  was  the  astounded  comment. 
"  How  can  Your  Imperial  Highness  say  such  a  thing  ? 
Princess  Sacha  unworthy  of  a  poor  devil  like  myself!" 

"  In  a  manner,  yes.  She  is  a  charming  little  thing,  I 
admit,  but  she  falls  far  short  of  being  like  you — steadfast 
as  the  rocks  of  your  own  Brittany,  brave  and  loyal  and 
trustful  of  others.  You  are  a  Preux  Chevalier  in  the  full 
acceptation  of  the  word,  while  she,  to  begin  with,  is  a 
Russian — which  always  means  a  creature  of  caprice  and 
fancy — and,  to  cap  the  climax,  a  wilful  child,  made  eager 

206 


SNOW-FIRE 

for  liberty  by  too  much  repression,  who  will  not  be  checked 
except  by  severe  rules  that  you  would  never  apply. 
Mind  you,  I  am  not  trying  to  dissuade  you  from  trying 
your  luck  with  her,  I  am  merely  planting  before  your 
eyes  a  danger-signal  of  sorts,  assuring  you  at  the  same 
time  that  as  far  as  worldly  considerations — and  others — 
go,  you  are  Sacha's  superior  in  every  way.  Voila  tout  I" 

For  a  hundred  yards  or  so  they  progressed  in  thought- 
ful silence,  Alain  wondering  whether  he  had  heard  aright, 
Daria  taking  herself  seriously  to  task  for  that  unquench- 
able thirst  for  fair  play  which  always  made  her  say  the 
wrong  thing  at  the  right  moment.  They  had  reached  the 
very  last  rise  before  the  beginning  of  the  avenue — lined 
on  both  sides  with  young  carob  trees  already  finely  grown 
— when  Alain  bethought  himself  of  the  apparent  coolness 
with  which  he  had  accepted  the  Grand-Duchess's  surpris- 
ing kindness,  and  swung  himself  round  in  his  saddle  to 
repair  the  omission.  She  was  gazing  at  the  violet  pro- 
files of  the  mountains,  her  figure  sculptured  in  her  single- 
piece  riding-dress,  her  white  sporting  tie,  fastened  with 
one  small  pearl,  fitting  snugly  around  her  throat  to  dis- 
appear within  the  V-shaped  opening  of  the  revers,  and 
upon  her  piled-up  braids  a  plain  khaki-colored  straw  hat 
with  a  crimson  band  matching  the  splendid  carnation 
at  her  buttonhole — a  creature  worthy  of  all  loyalty  and 
worship. 

"You  must  think  me  the  most  ungrateful  of  men, 
Madame,  for  I  have  not  been  able  as  yet  to  find  words  to 
thank  you." 

"Words?"  she  laughed.  "Who  under  the  sun  wants 
words?  They  are  the  ruin  of  life.  My  dear  lad,  I  am 
always  more  content  without  them." 

"  But  Your  Imperial  Highness  cannot  realize  what  .  .  . 
what  your  treatment  of  an  insignificant  individual  like 

207 


SNOW-FIRE 

myself  has  done  for  me;  what  courage,  what  hope,  what 
happiness  you  have  brought." 

"  Hush!  hush!"  she  replied.  "  I  am  glad  if  my  meddle- 
someness has  been  of  better  effect  than  meddlesomeness 
usually  is.  Now,  shake  hands,  Alain — no,  don't  kiss  it! 
You  know  you  are  my  friend — and  this  is  as  from  man 
to  man,"  she  concluded,  pressing  his  fingers  with  all  the 
strength  of  her  own  slender  ones. 

Peeping  Tom,  represented  upon  this  occasion  by  a 
pretty  silver -blond  head  concealed  behind  the  drooping 
tendrils  of  an  immense  jasmine  garlanding  an  upper  win- 
dow, drew  back  shocked  and  amazed  at  the  sight.  Daria- 
Mikaelovna,  Grand-Duchess  of  Russia,  not  to  mention 
half  a  yard  of  other  high-sounding  titles  and  dignities, 
riding  hand  in  hand  with  a  young  officer  of  hussars!  A 
wave  of  violent  and  bitter  jealousy  swept  over  Sacha. 
"What  business  has  she  to  be  riding  about  with  him  in 
this  fashion — or  any  other?"  she  said, between  clinched 
teeth.  "He  is  my  escort,  not  hers;"  and,  poking  her 
head  once  more  out  of  the  flowery  frame,  she  was  just  in 
time  to  dart  a  savage  look  at  the  Grand-Duchess,  now 
immediately  beneath  her. 

Daria,  whom  nothing  escaped,  bent  to  conceal  an 
amused  smile,  and  before  Alain  had  jumped  from  his 
horse  was  on  the  ground  holding  hers,  her  short  habit 
scarcely  brushing  the  broad  border  of  Gazon  de  Mahon, 
luxuriating  in  the  sandy  soil  and  golden  sunlight  it  loves 
so  well. 

"Oh,  Madame!  Why  did  not  you  allow  me?"  This  in 
a  reproachful  tone  that  rose  with  unfortunate  clearness 
on  the  quiet  air. 

"I  always  get  off  and  on  alone,"  Daria  replied.  "I 
am  not  a  pick-me-up-or-I-die  object  yet,"  she  added, 
wholly  forgetting  the  listener  above.  "  Here,  Mahmoud. 

208 


SNOW-FIRE 

Take  those  horses,  and  see  that  they  get  a  very  special 
rubbing  down,  for  they  have  fifteen  miles  in  their  bellies. 
And  don't  water  them  for  a  good  while — understand?" 
She  turned,  and  Sacha  watched  her  disappear  under  the 
tangle  of  verdure  crowning  the  pillared  porch,  closely 
followed  by  Alain. 

"That  was  meant  for  me,"  she  muttered,  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  indicate  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  her  cult 
for  Daria.  "That  was  surely  meant  for  me — pick-me-up- 
or-I-die!  But  never  mind,  all  men  don't  dislike  that  sort. 
I'll  show  her!"  And  she  fairly  shouted  for  her  maid. 

"Get  me  out  my  gold-tissue  gown — with  the  apple- 
blossom  underslip!  You  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you?" 
she  demanded  from  the  breathless  damsel,  staring  be- 
wildered at  her  transfigured  mistress. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  Madame  la  Princesse"  Rosalie  stam- 
mered. "But — I  ask  humble  pardon — is  it  not  a  little 
too  magnificent  for  a  home-dinner  in  such  wild  parts?" 

"Wild  parts  yourself!  What  do  you  know  about  it? 
But  perhaps  you  are  right,  after  all.  Have  you  brought 
something  very  handsome  without  being  too  magnificent, 
as  you  call  it — something — ?" 

Rosalie  repressed  a  smile.  "I  have  brought,  with 
Madame's  permission,  that  Point-de-Flandres  Princess 
robe  over  silver  gauze  that  looks  like  cream-laid  moon- 
shine, and  with  Her  Highness's  pearls  and  the  silver 
slippers — "  Rosalie's  fine  dark  eyes  went  ceilingward, 
as  though  in  default  of  adequate  praise,  her  arms  drop- 
ping expressively  to  her  sides. 

"  Yes,  very  possibly!  Lay  them  out  at  once,  then,  and 
some  rather  heady  flowers — I  mean  strong-scented,  of 
course.  Are  there  any  gardenias  or  stephanotis  in  this 
forsaken  land?" 

She  hacked  her  sentences  as  she  rushed  to  and  fro,  her 

209 


SNOW-FIRE 

glorious  hair  flowing  after  her  like  countless  unbound 
skeins  of  Algerian  silk,  her  color  heightened  to  that  of 
a  pink  peony,  while  the  amazed  Rosalie,  running  after 
her  from  room  to  room, whispered  over  and  over  again: 
"Marie,  Mere  de  Dieu,  qu'est-ce-qui  prend  a  Son  Altesse 
maintenant!" 

Nor  was  she  at  the  end  of  the  surprises  in  store  for  her 
that  night,  for  never  had  Sacha  been  so  difficult  to  please 
while  being  dressed,  so  exasperatingly  changeful  of  plans 
and  ideas.  She  stood  first  before  one  long  mirror,  then 
another,  unable  to  decide  whether  white  or  scarcely  pink 
blossoms,  long  strands  of  pearls  in  cascades  or  coiled 
closely  about  her  rounded  throat,  would  be  most  effective. 
She  stamped  her  little  slippers  on  piled-up  finery  that,  in 
the  heat  of  the  action,  had  been  dashed  to  the  floor, 
whirled  a  diamond-monogrammed  hair-brush  clear  across 
the  room  as  if  it  had  been  a  worthless  bit  of  wood,  and 
finally  almost  began  to  cry  when  the  way  her  coiffure  was 
arranged  failed  to  suit  her. 

"Mais  voyons,  Madame;  je  supplie  Votre  Altesse  de  se 
calmer!"  poor  Rosalie  implored.  "Madame  est  toujours 
la  plus  belle,  mdme  a  Petersbourg  ainsi!" 

But  when  at  last,  with  a  trembling  sigh  of  relief,  the 
over- tired  Parisienne,  an  undeniable  artist  in  her  way, 
had  watched  her  incomprehensible  mistress  sweep  down- 
stairs, a  marvel  of  costliest  simplicity — for  the  pearls  had 
finally  been  discarded,  and  the  priceless  lace,  taming  its 
argent  background  to  delicate  significance,  was  like  a 
tracery  of  faery  mist  along  the  moonlit  bosom  of  a  lake — 
she  felt  the  need  of  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and,  caroming 
against  Count  Neriguine's  French  valet  as  she  ran,  fell 
panting  on  one  of  the  benches  of  the  lower  terrace. 

"What  ails  you,  fair  Mademoiselle  Rosalie?"  this  good- 
looking  and  disastrously  dandified  personage  inquired, 

2IO 


SNOW-FIRE 

beginning  to  fan  her  gallantly  with  an  orange  silk  hand- 
kerchief soaked  in  opoponax. 

"Madame  la  Princesse,"  gasped  the  good-natured 
Rosalie,  "is  such  a  baby  lately!  There's  no  pleasing 
her." 

"  In  love,"  the  elegant  young  man  asserted.  "  In  love 
with  our  splendid  hussar." 

" Nonsense,  Monsieur  Pierre!  Nothing  of  the  kind,  I 
assure  you — and  please  stop  fanning  that  nasty-smelling 
stuff  at  me.  I've  had  enough  perfumery  for  one  even- 
ing." 

"Nasty-smelling  stuff!"  moaned  Monsieur  Pierre. 
"Opoponax  at  ten  francs  a  small  bottle  that  my  young 
lady,  who  is  first  vendor  at  the  greatest  Parfumerie  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix,  has  herself  given  me.  Well,  I  never!" 

"Pardon  me  if  I  offended  you,  but  my  nerves  are  all 
of  a  twitter.  And  you  should  not  vex  me  by  talking 
frivolously  about  Madame.  If  you  want  to  know,  there 
is  some  one  else." 

"  Was  some  one  else,  perhaps;  but  that  some  one  should 
look  out  of  his  clearest  eye  if  he  knows  what's  good 
for  him — believe  me!  I've  got  a  hollow  nose,  as  they 
say  at  home,  and  scent  danger  from  afar  off.  Your 
Madame  Sacha  is  after  that  grand  hussar — he  is  grand, 
you  can't  deny  it.  Bretons  and  Vendeens  are  above  the 
common  herd  every  time,  let  me  tell  you.  I,"  he  modest- 
ly added,  "am  a  Vendeen.  A  descendant  of  Chouans — 
that's  Bibi  here  present. — And  not  quite  unworthy  of  the 
old  ones;  occasion  presenting  itself,  that  is.  But  we've 
no  luck  in  France  just  now — that's  why  I  serve  in  Russia, 
just  like  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Coetmen." 

"  You  are  not  a  Republican,  then  ?"  she  innocently  asked. 

Monsieur  Pierre  looked  at  her  as  though  some  uncouth 
sight  had  suddenly  met  his  eyes. 
15  an 


SNOW-FIRE 

"I,  Pierre-Felicit6  Charron !" -  —  the  tone  would  have 
fitted  a  Rohan  or  a  Montmorency — "I  a  Republican?" 
He  positively  choked  on  the  ill-sounding  word.  "A 
Republican!  Pah!  I  am  a  Legitimist  in  France,  an 
Imperialist  in  Russia.  His  Majesty  the  Tsar  once  per- 
sonally complimented  me  on  my  way  of  attaching  a 
decoration  that  had  become  loosened  from  his  uniform 
when  he  was  lunching  in  camp  with  us — complimented 
my  General-Count  too  on  possessing  such  a  man  as  I — 
and  then  you  go  believing  that  I  could  be  a  Republican! 
Why  not  a  Socialist  or  even  an  Anarchist  while  you  are 
about  it?" 

"Dear,  dear!"  smiled  the  clever  Rosalie.  "I  had  no 
idea  you  were  so  set  in  your  ideas.  Of  course  I  like  the 
aristocracy  the  best;  they  have  such  nice  pleasant  ways 
with  us  of  the  people.  My  poor  little  Princess  to-night 
was  merely  overwrought — she  didn't  mean  a  thing  she 
did,  I  give  you  my  word.  She's  good  as  gold  to  me  gen- 
erally— and  as  to  the  Grand-Duchess!" 

"  Oh,  she!"  the  descendant  of  the  Chouans  pronounced — 
"she  is  wonderful.  Would  you  believe  that  the  other 
day,  when  I  cut  my  finger  stropping  His  Excellency's 
razors,  she  came  in  person  to  look  after  it.  'My,  my!' 
says  she  in  her  French  of  the  Grand  Si&cle,  '  I'm  sorry  I 
didn't  know  about  this  sooner.  Now  sit  down,  Pierre- 
Felicite",  and  I'll  fix  it  all  right  for  you.'  She  had  a  little 
bag  with  her,  full  of  bandages  and  cotton  wool  and 
batiste  of  the  finest,  and  also  tiny  silver-stoppered  little 
bottles,  and  she  knows  her  business,  that  beautiful  great- 
est of  great  ladies !  She  bound  that  finger  up  in  no  time, 
and  gave  me  twenty  rubles  '  for  having  been  so  patient,' 
mind  you.  Of  course,  I  lifted  the  hem  of  her  skirt  to  my 
lips  as  Russians  do,  I  was  so  grateful;  but  what  do  you 
think  ?  She  smiled  that  clean  smile  of  hers,  and  said, '  Laissez 


SNOW-FIRE 

donc,c'est  bon  pour  les  Moujiks,£a!'  and  actually — yes,  as 
sure  as  I'm  a  man— gave  me  her  hand  to  salute!  I  won- 
der I  did  not  fall  then  and  there  at  her  feet  flat  on  my 
face.  'You  are  a  good  chap,'  she  said,  'and  a  French- 
man— I  like  Frenchmen.'  " 

"  'A  Vendeen,  Your  Imperial  Highness,'  I  ventured  to 
correct. 

"  '  Oh!  A  Vendeen — that's  still  better.  I  hope  a  true 
Vendeen  heart  beats  under  this  gorgeous  waistcoat  of 
yours.'  She  had  to  have  her  little  joke,  you  see,  but  a 
kindly  joke,  all  the  same.  One  would  gladly  let  one's  self 
be  cut  to  pieces  for  such  a  woman,  joke  or  no  joke.' " 

"I  know,  I  know,"  approved  Rosalie,  "but  now  I  must 
go  up-stairs  and  tidy  up.  Our  rooms  look  as  if  a  hurricane 
had  struck  them."  And  as  the  handsome  Legitimist 
tried  to  help  her  from  her  seat  with  an  arm  thrown 
tentatively  about  her  slender  waist,  she  did  not  scruple  to 
slap  his  immaculately  shaven  face  with  a  "Hands  off,  if 
you  please!"  that  left  him,  immensely  disconcerted,  to 
watch  the  slim  little  new-born  moon  attempt  to  make  a 
show  above  the  glorious  lingering  gold  of  the  desert  rim. 
Vaguely  he  pondered  whether  the  splendiferous  young 
lady  of  his  heart,  becurled,  beringed,  and  beribboned,  be- 
hind her  sumptuous  counter  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  was  not 
perhaps  a  trifle  less  fascinating  than  the  trim  girl  in  her 
plain  but  exquisitely  fitting  black  silk  dress,  diaphanous 
little  apron,  and  coquettish  lace  cap,  who  had  just  dis- 
dained his  —  Pierre-Felicitd  Charron's  —  irresistible  em- 
brace. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

You,  the  white  glory  of  the  pines  and  drifted  Northern  snow, 
Whiter — and  gentler- voiced  than  they  when  August  breezes  blow, 
Are  life  and  love  and  land  to  me,  and  any  clime  is  fair 
With  all  the  dear  delights  of  home  if  only  you  are  there. 

The  quaking  heav'n  might  cower  before  the  tropic  day  begun, 
The  yellow  desert  writhe  and  crawl  beneath  the  crushing  sun, 
That  furnaced  plain  your  rule  would  know,  and  at  your  touch 

divine, 
Lo,  would  the  languid-fronded  palm  become  the  tossing  pine! 

The  waste  would  lie  a  living  sea,  wind-wrinkled,  fold  and  fold, 
Flamed  with  a  morning  keen  with  frost  and  shot  with  spears 

of  gold; 

Your  eyes  would  bring  the  fir-clad  hills,  the  distance  far  and  clear, 
And  the  bright  surges'  leap  and  hurl  along  the  ploughing  pier. 

From  out  your  own  sweet  shrine  of  dreams  and  magic  you'd 

beguile 

The  Northern  night,  all  crystalline,  upon  the  sands  of  Nile, 
To  shrink  the  burning  stars  with  cold,  and  steel  the  velvet  blue, 
And  bind  for  aye  one  Northern  heart,  my  Northern  maid,  to  you. 

M.  M. 

A  SHORT  hour  later  another  remarkably  handsome 
couple,  belonging  to  the  elect  and  not  to  its  antechambers, 
were  leaving  the  table  after  a  dinner  which  had  been  a 
continual  astonishment  to  three  out  of  the  five  people 
sitting  around  its  flower-strewn  cloth.  From  the  moment 
of  Sacha's  lively  entry  in  her  exquisite  dress — contrasting 
perhaps  not  wholly  to  its  advantage  with  Dana's  diaph- 
anous white  gauze,  unadorned  save  by  a  small  knot  of 

214 


SNOW-FIRE 

pomegranate  bloom  at  the  waist  and  another  on  the 
shoulder — they  had  marvelled  to  see  the  pale,  silent,  moody 
girl  of  the  last  few  days  changed  into  a  rosy,  winsome 
creature,  bubbling  over  with  fun,  rallying  every  one  with 
inimitable  gayety,  and  rising  now  and  again  to  sparkling 
heights  of  wit  and  persiflage.  Her  veins  seemed  rilled 
with  quicksilver,  her  eyes  had  altered  from  their  softly 
changeful  "  pansiness  "  to  the  brilliancy  of  brown  diamonds 
— nay,  even  her  pretty  pale  hair  had  acquired  a  life  of  its 
own.  It  was  no  longer  drawn  away  from  her  forehead, 
but  disposed  in  a  crinkling  maze  of  ripples  that  reminded 
one  of  some  classic  marble,  and  finally  rolled  at  a  peculiar- 
ly seductive  angle  into  a  knot  gleaming  like  ruffled 
satin.  Poor  Alain,  utterly  bewildered,  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  what  could  have  happened  to  cause  so 
amazing  a  transformation.  Kotchinine,  electrified,  com- 
menced to  flirt  ponderously  with  this  "brand-new" 
Sacha,  and  raised  his  glass  so  many  times  in  her  honor 
that  the  General  began  to  inspect  him  critically  through 
his  monocle.  The  Grand-Duchess  alone  remained  quite 
unmoved,  as  one  possessing  the  key  to  the  mystery,  and 
satisfied  now  that  she  had  done  all  in  her  power  to  warn 
Alain  against  taking  any  precipitate  step,  bore  no  part  in 
the  little  comedy  enacted  before  her. 

"Foolish  baby!"  she  thought,  nevertheless — "foolish, 
flighty,  unreliable,  irresponsible  creature!  I  wish  Serge 
could  see  her  now,"  she  mentally  added  to  this  string  of 
adjectives;  and  still  less,  even  in  the  face  of  the  dazzle 
and  gayety  Sacha  radiated  about  her,  could  she  help 
pitying  Alain. 

To  reach  the  esplanade  from  the  dining-room  it  was 
necessary  to  cross  a  large  Moorish  apartment,  in  a  far 
corner  of  which  the  incongruity  of  a  grand  piano  was 
atoned  for  by  coverings  of  silken  scarfs,  too  light  to  in- 

215 


SNOW-FIRE 

terfere  with  its  splendid  sound,  but  matching  in  hue  the 
bright  draperies  of  windows,  divans,  and  doors.  Here 
Sacha  suddenly  paused,  ran  to  the  instrument,  and,  throw- 
ing it  open,  began  to  play  a  Cossack  dance  with  such  un- 
thought-of  brio  and  vivacity  that  this  time  even  Daria 
stopped  short  in  surprise.  A  few  Oriental  lanterns  of 
bronze  and  silver,  hanging  by  chains  from  the  gilded  and 
arabesqued  ceiling,  threw  a  dim  prismatic  glow  upon  the 
scene,  and  silently  the  four  listeners  seated  themselves 
on  piles  of  cushions,  fearing  to  interrupt  this  unexpected 
treat.  On  and  on,  rapid  and  vibrant,  the  quaint  rhythm, 
reminding  them  all  of  home,  rose  and  fell,  terminating  at 
length  with  a  crash,  which  was  instantly  followed  by  an 
equally  marvellous  rendering  of  one  of  Offenbach's  anti- 
quated but  most  alluring  waltzes. 

"Oh  dear!"  Sacha  cried,  suddenly,  over  her  shoulder, 
without  ceasing  her  runs  and  rills  of  melody,  "  how  I  wish 
I  could  dance  this!" 

"  You  can,"  Daria  said  with  a  smile,  and,  rising  swiftly, 
she  went  over  to  the  piano,  slipped  her  hands  beneath 
the  girl's,  and  pushing  her  gently  from  the  seat,  con- 
tinued the  measure  without  any  sensible  interruption. 

Kotchinine  precipitated  himself,  crying  "A  moi  Vhonneur; 
but  mind,  I  dance  like  a  foot!"  Which  assertion  was, 
however,  unmerited,  for  in  an  instant  they  were  circling 
around  the  highly  polished  mosaic  floor  like  a  whirlwind. 
One  turn,  two  turns;  then  Sacha  detached  herself  from 
her  partner's  strong  embrace  like  a  puff  of  foam  from  a 
rock,  and,  still  whirling,  her  lace  and  silver  skirts  flying 
about  her  tiny  feet,  positively  threw  herself  with  a  breath- 
less "A  votre  tour!"  into  Alain's  arms.  Half-dazed  by  the 
violence  of  the  proceeding,  he  caught  her,  as  it  were,  in 
mid-air,  and  finished  the  compelling  waltz  to  the  end, 
hardly  knowing  whether  he  was  awake  or  asleep. 

216 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Madame!  Madame!  please,  please  let  me  play  now, 
and  take  a  couple  of  turns  yourself;  it  is  entrancing — 
absolutely  entrancing!" 

But  Daria,  facing  round,  smilingly  and  firmly  refused. 
"I  don't  feel  like  dancing  to-night.  However,  listen  to 
this,  and  try  it  yourself,  little  fairy."  And  without  giving 
Sacha  a  chance  to  plead  further,  she  broke  into  a  weird 
and  intoxicating  improvisation  that  sent  the  girl  flying 
back  to  her  partners.  Even  General  Neriguine — this 
most  youthful  of  old  campaigners — fired  by  the  nerve- 
thrilling  strains,  took  his  turn  with  the  others  until  the 
music  abruptly  ceased,  and  Daria,  declaring  that  the 
coffee  must  be  stone-cold,  snatched  from  a  divan  a  sap- 
phire and  silver  turban-scarf,  and  flung  it  about  Sacha's 
head  and  shoulders  before  leading  the  way  out  upon  the 
terrace. 

"I  wouldn't  sit  down  if  I  were  you,"  she  admonished. 
"Walk  up  and  down  for  a  while — until  fresh  coffee  is 
brought,  at  any  rate." 

Sacha,  swathed  in  the  folds  of  the  delicate  Kabyle 
fabric,  which,  by-the-way,  made  her  look  even  lovelier 
than  before,  dutifully  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  and  in 
another  moment  Alain  joined  her,  Kotchinine  having 
boisterously  announced  that  he  was  "foundered,"  and 
that  a  "burst  tendon "  had  been  the  reward  of  his  madness. 

"Aren't  you  tired,  Madame?"  Alain  asked,  gazing  ad- 
miringly at  the  little  Princess. 

"Tired!"  she  exclaimed;  "not  a  bit  of  it.  But  her 
Imperial  Highness  having  renigged,  we  must  obey,  else 
I  would  have  wished  to  continue  all  night!"  She  stum- 
bled on  an  imperceptible  pebble,  and  Alain,  taking  her 
hand,  drew  it,  unrebuked,  within  his  arm. 

More,  she  let  him  lead  her  on  toward  an  oddly  but- 
tressed little  wall,  cushioned  with  vines  and  lightly  shad- 

217 


SNOW-FIRE 

owed  by  palms,  which  separated  the  desert  from  the 
gardens.  His  heart  was  beating  so  that  she  could  feel 
it  pulsating  against  her  bare  arm,  and  suddenly  all  her 
gayety  fled  and  she  grew  silent. 

"  You  are  tired,"  he  tried  to  say  in  a  voice  which  should 
seem  like  his  own.  "Why  did  you  overtax  yourself  like 
this?" 

I-  Overtaxed  she  must  certainly  have  been;  for  without 
any  warning  she  let  her  head  fall  against  his  shoulder, 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

What  man  in  love  would  have  resisted  this?  Not 
Alain,  at  any  rate.  His  arms  closed  around  her,  press- 
ing her  to  him  as  if  he  never  again  would  let  her  go,  and 
for  a  long  minute  she  sobbed  wildly  on,  clinging  with 
two  little  convulsed  hands  to  the  epaulet-straps  of  his 
undress  uniform. 

"My  little  girl  .  .  .  my  poor  little  Sacha!"  he  was  mur- 
muring, not  in  the  least  realizing  the  import  of  his  words. 
"My  own  darling!"  And  gathering  her  up  like  a  mere 
child,  he  seated  her  on  the  crest  of  the  wall,  kneeling  at 
her  feet  with  one  arm  still  flung  about  her. 

"  You  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  must  forgive  me,"  she  stammered 
after  a  while.  "I'm  ...  all  ...  all  ...  alone.  I  have 
n-nobody  at  all!" 

"Oh,  please  don't  say  that,"  he  pleaded.  "You  know 
it  is  not  true!" 

"Not  true?"  she  questioned,  raising  her  head  for  the 
first  time,  and  glancing  up  at  the  luminous  sky,  as  if  ex- 
pecting to  find  the  answer  there.  She  was  luckily  one 
of  the  rare  women  who  are  never  disfigured  by  tears, 
and  Alain  at  the  sight  of  that  small  wet  face,  with  brill- 
iant drops  still  hanging  on  the  long  eyelashes,  lost  all 
power  of  speech.  Childishly,  questioningly  still,  the 
eyes  came  back  to  earth,  where  knelt  her  humble  wor- 

318 


SNOW-FIRE 

shipper,  the  lips  parted  like  two  rose-petals,  and  Sacha, 
putting  both  hands  on  his  shoulders  again,  said,  timidly, 
hesitatingly,  like  a  very  little  girl  at  school  for  the  first 
time,  who  scarcely  knows  her  lessons:  "Monsieur  de 
Coetmen  .  .  .  will  you  .  .  .  will  you  marry  me?" 

Alain  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  palm-fronds  seemed  to 
whirl  and  dance  in  the  calm  night. 

"Will  I  ...  marry  you?"  he  said,  almost  inaudibly. 
"You?"  he  repeated,  this  time  in  a  hoarse  whisper  of 
boundless  incredulity.  "You?  Do  you  know  what  you 
are  saying?" 

Slowly,  tantalizingly  slowly,  and  with  an  elfin  coquetry 
of  which,  to  do  her  justice,  she  was  not  the  least  bit 
conscious — to  such  ways  are  some  pretty  women  born — 
she  tilted  her  little  head  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "I 
know  very  well,"  she  murmured,  "and  I  meant  it,  too, 
...  I  mean  it  now!" 

Alain,  standing  before  her,  shaking  like  a  leaf,  said 
again:  "Marry  me,  a  poor  devil  with  nothing  to  offer 
but  my  love!  Do  you  really  care  for  me,  then?" 

"  Y  .  .  .  yes,"  came  the  broken  answer.  "  Y-e-s.  .  .  at 
least,  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  what  one  calls  .  .  .  love; 
but  I  want  you  to  be  near  me,  to  protect  me,  to  be  al- 
ways there.  Isn't  that  love?" 

"It  seems  a  good  counterfeit,  at  any  rate,"  a  disin- 
terested hearer  might  have  been  pardoned  for  saying. 
But  Alain  was  not  disinterested,  and  again  he  opened 
wide  his  arms.  "  My  protection,  my  presence  near  you!" 
he  murmured,  holding  her  fast.  "  You  mean  my  adora- 
tion and  worship  for  evermore!"  And  she,  nestling  upon 
his  breast,  felt  that  now  perhaps  she  would  be  happy 
and  Serge  punished — this  last  filtering  through  the  con- 
fusion of  her  emotions  as  a  drop  of  vinegar  does  in  a  dish 
that  needs  what  the  French  chefs  call  "giving  tone." 

219 


SNOW-FIRE 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  two  very  silent  and  quiet 
young  people  joined  the  little  party  on  the  terrace,  where 
luckily  it  was  quite  dusky  beneath  the  tamarisks,  veiling 
with  their  feathery  foliage  the  young  rays  of  the  already 
sleepy  little  moon.  The  Grand-Duchess  and  Neriguine 
were  conversing  in  a  grave  way  about  grave  matters, 
while  Kotchinine,  stretched  in  a  long  chair,  was  con- 
versationally snoring — "breathing  deep,"  he  would  have 
modestly  called  it.  On  the  small  table  between  them 
two  full  and  three  empty  little  jewelled  coffee-cups,  an 
open  cellarette,  and  a  huge  box  of  cigarettes  still  stood. 

"Cold  coffee  is  said  to  be  a  wonderful  improver  of  the 
complexion,"  Daria  said,  without  turning  to  look  at  the 
culprits.  "Have  you  come  to  try  its  virtue?" 

Alain,  manlike,  naturally  found  no  adequate  answer. 
Not  so  Sacha,  however,  who,  calm  and  collected  now, 
and  with  the  folds  of  her  koufite  most  decorously  ar- 
ranged, glanced  at  the  peaceful  sleeper  in  the  chair;  then 
suddenly  seizing  Alain's  hand,  drew  him  forward,  and 
made  him  kneel  down  beside  her  at  the  Grand-Duchess's 
feet. 

"We  ask  your  blessing,"  she  said  in  Russian,  using 
the  customary  formula  of  children  with  their  parents  on 
similar  occasions.  There  was  a  short,  nervous  silence, 
which  gave  the  General  opportunity  to  drop  his  new-lit 
cigar  into  his  liqueur-glass,  upsetting  it  in  the  process; 
then  Daria  placed  one  hand  on  each  bowed  head,  and  in 
a  voice  perhaps  a  trifle  uneven,  pronounced  the  usual 
words  of  benediction. 

"And  now,  children,"  she  softly  added,  "kiss  me, 
both  of  you,  and  receive  my  warmest  and  most  sincere 
wishes  for  a  flawless  happiness!" 

So  it  came  to  pass  that,  instead  of  the  usual  formal 
touch  on  the  forehead,  the  fiance's  received  a  really  warm 

220 


SNOW-FIRE 

and  tender  accolade,  first  from  Daria,  whose  eyes,  strange 
to  say,  were  full  of  tears,  and  then  from  the  General,  who 
claimed  fatherly  rights  for  the  nonce,  and  utterly  for- 
getting his  native  language  in  his  emotion,  allowed  several 
resounding  "Sacrebleus"  to  escape  him  as  he  vigorously 
accomplished  his  self-imposed  duty. 

"What's  everybody  embracing  everybody  else  for?"  a 
drowsy  voice  demanded  from  the  outer  darkness.  "  Can't 
I  have  something,  too?" 

Sacha,  pink  to  her  throat  and  arms,  turned  amid  gen- 
eral laughter  toward  his  huge  advancing  form.  "  It's  for 
Alain  to  say,"  she  announced,  with  inimitable  roguishness. 

"What!  What!  ...  So  that's  it,  eh?  Alain  indeed! 
Lucky  beast!  Oh,  pardon,  Your  Imperial  Highness,  but 
why  couldn't  it  have  been  me  instead?"  He  checked 
his  sleep-muddled  speech,  and  unexpectedly  re-entering 
the  skin  belonging  to  his  birth  and  breeding,  knelt  on  one 
knee  before  Sacha,  and,  pressing  his  formidable  mustache 
to  her  little  cold  hand,  said,  very  gently:  "You  have 
made  a  good  choice,  Madame  la  Princesse,  and  I  know  of 
no  two  people  more  fit  to  make  each  other  happy  than 
you  and  my  friend  there!"  Sacha  bent,  touched  his  fore- 
head with  her  lips,  Russian  fashion,  and  in  another  minute 
the  good  fellow  was  hugging  Alain  like  a  bear,  rocking  him 
exuberantly  to  and  fro,  and  calling  down  upon  his  head 
torrents  of  such  surprisingly  picturesque  benedictions 
that  again  everybody  burst  out  laughing. 

"Still,"  the  irrepressible  young  man  concluded,  "I 
should  really  hate  you,  and  challenge  you  to  single  com- 
bat, for  you  have  stolen  a  march  on  me,  besides  causing 
me  a  most  dangerous  and  unexpected  surprise  .  .  .  my 
heart  being  weak,  as  everybody  knows!" 

"Surprises  are  commonly  unexpected,"  quoth  the 
General,  who  had  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  was  beaming 

221 


SNOW-FIRE 

on  them  all.  "  Moreover,  when  one  chooses  to  carry  one's 
profession  so  continuously  on  a  pleasure  trip,  one  really 
deserves  defeat!" 

"That's  true,  General — lamentably  true,"  Kotchinine 
dolefully  admitted.  "But  how  could  I  guess  what  this 
light-cavalry  individual  was  attempting?  Happy  beggar 
.  .  .  and  the  hardest  pill  for  me  to  swallow  is  that  he  de- 
serves his  luck.  I'll  never  get  over  it ...  never!" 

"I  think,"  Daria  interrupted,  "that  this  engagement 
should  for  the  present  be  kept  from  Petersburg  comments. 
Don't  you,  children — at  any  rate,  until  you  flank  the  in- 
trenchments  of  Madame  Mbre?" 

"Most  assuredly,"  they  answered,  with  such  absolute 
ensemble  that  Daria  smiled.  "Well,"  she  murmured, 
"if  you  continue  to  agree  as  completely  as  that,  your 
days  will  be  halcyon  indeed.  But  you  hear,  Basil-Deme- 
trieff?  Not  a  word  to  any  one !" 

"Why  does  Your  Imperial  Highness  deign  publicly  to 
designate  me  as  the  likeliest  member  of  this  honorable 
and  noble  party  to  commit  a  monumental  imbecility?" 

The  Grand-Duchess  looked  kindly  at  him.  "Because," 
she  explained,  "you  are  so  open-hearted  that  you  can 
keep  nothing  to  yourself!"  And  Kotchinine,  as  Pierre- 
Felicite"  Charron  had  once  planned  to  do,  raised  the  hem 
of  her  skirt  and  kissed  it  devotedly.  In  Russia,  as  in 
other  monarchical  countries,  nobles  and  peasants  alike 
are  allowed  privileges  from  which  the  middle  classes, 
high  or  low,  are  rigorously  barred. 

A  few  moments  more,  and  the  inmates  of  the  "  Caprice" 
ascended  the  staircase  to  their  respective  apartments. 
In  the  hall  above  they  parted  company — all  but  Daria  and 
Sacha,  who  together  sought  a  little  salon  called  "Les 
Fleurettes,"  thanks  to  its  dainty  broch6  wall-coverings 
and  upholstery. 

222 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Do  you  love  him — are  you  sure  this  time?"  Daria 
asked,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Sacha's  with  almost  merciless 
scrutiny. 

"I  think  .  .  .  that  is — no,  I  am  sure  I  do!"  the  young 
widow  exclaimed,  throwing  herself  into  Daria's  arms. 

"Thank  God!"  was  all  the  Grand-Duchess  said. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Look  not  so  close  at  me,  dear  love, 

Seek  not  a  word  or  sign, 
For  there's  a  truth  within  your  eyes 

That  shames  the  thoughts  of  mine. 

M.  M. 

THE  conversation  between  the  two  women  ran  well  into 
the  small  hours ;  and  when  at  last  Daria  left  Sacha  to  her 
own  thoughts,  the  "fiance'e  de  Coetmen"  had  come  fully 
to  appreciate  the  wisdom  of  not  acquainting  even  her 
mother  with  the  decision  she  had  made.  Now  that  she 
had  determined  to  marry  Alain,  she  felt  anxious  to  do 
so  as  soon  as  possible,  and  if  the  wedding  could  have  taken 
place  on  the  morrow  she  would  not  have  hesitated  a 
second.  However,  there  was  the  Tsar's  consent  to  be 
obtained,  not  to  mention  the  amount  of  red-tape  necessa- 
rily involved,  especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  one  of  the 
contracting  parties  was  a  foreigner,  so  she  was  obliged 
to  wait  until  the  return  to  Petersburg,  where  in  the 
mean  time,  as  Daria  promised,  everything  would  be 
secretly  prepared  for  the  ceremony  through  the  agency 
of  her  almost  unlimited  powers.  How  good  Daria  had 
been;  how  patient,  affectionate,  and  comforting!  Sacha 
drowsily  marvelled  at  this  while  preparing  for  bed  with- 
out the  help  of  Rosalie — long  since  sent  to  her  room. 
One  thing  was  certain  in  any  case,  and  that  was  a  pretty 
speedy  departure  from  the  "Caprice,"  and  Sacha,  rubbing 
her  eyes  as  she  pulled  down  the  blinds  upon  the  flush  of 

224 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  wonderful  dawn,  lingered  for  a  minute  to  watch  the  gray 
far-stretching  waves  of  desert  flush  with  rose,  and  heaved 
a  little  regretful  sigh. 

The  sojourn  here  had  been  so  full  of  happenings, 
pleasing  and  otherwise,  and  so  different  from  anything 
previously  experienced,  that  perchance  she  would  miss 
its  quaintness  and  unwonted  freedom.  Then  her  feather- 
weight brain,  as  yet  so  absolutely  unballasted  by  years 
and  experience,  flew  from  the  fear  of  a  reunion  with 
her  terrible  mother  to  the  joy  of  the  long  wedding  trip 
she  was  to  take  on  the  Grand-ducal  yacht — should 
she  wish  it — among  the  Greek  Islands,  and  thence 
through  Gibraltar  to  Alain's  adored  Brittany.  For  a 
second  the  tall,  soldierly  figure  and  handsome  face  of 
Serge  rose  before  her  again;  but  this  time,  with  more 
energy  than  might  have  been  expected  of  her,  she  ruth- 
lessly dismissed  it.  She  was  not  going  to  let  one  thought 
stray  in  that  direction — not  she.  It  would  be  unworthy 
of  her  and  of  the  honest  man  who  had  but  a  few  hours 
ago  intrusted  the  honor  of  his  ancient  name  to  her  keep- 
ing. Filled  with  these  praiseworthy  resolutions,  she 
nestled  upon  her  soft,  cool  pillows,  and  was  instantly 
asleep. 

Meanwhile  the  untiring  Grand-Duchess  was  seated  at 
the  little  Watteau  desk  in  her  dressing-room,  letting  her 
pen  fly  over  note-paper  and  cablegram  blanks,  not  for- 
getting one  detail,  one  bit  of  necessary  explanation — 
especially  in  the  long  letter  to  her  Imperial  nephew — not 
one  item  of  the  lengthy  programme  just  devised.  A 
couple  of  hard-worked  hours — no  more — set  the  whole 
complicated  machinery  of  Imperial  and  official  Peters- 
burg in  motion. 

To  have  everything  ready  for  an  immediate  and  brilliant 
marriage  ceremony,  and  to  keep  Serge  in  the  Caucasus 

225 


SNOW-FIRE 

until  all  was  over,  were  the  broad  lines  of  her  design. 
But  what  of  the  innumerable  and  crowding  side  issues? 
She  and  she  alone  could  have  remembered  all;  and  when 
her  numerous  packages  and  envelopes  were  sealed  and 
ready,  she  went  down  herself  in  search  of  Abdallah,  the 
only  man  who  could  be  trusted  to  execute  so  important  a 
commission,  and  to  cover  the  long  distance  to  the  nearest 
post  and  telegraph  office  without  killing  his  horses  under 
him. 

The  dark  face  of  the  groom  lighted  up  with  pleasure  at 
sight  of  his  mistress;  and  when  she  told  him  of  her  per- 
fect confidence  in  his  ability  to  carry  out  her  orders,  two 
rows  of  dazzlingly  white  teeth  gleamed  in  a  six-inch  smile 
of  such  gratification  as  the  gorgeously  clad  Arab  had 
rarely  shown. 

She  remained  in  the  "  yard "  while  he  made  his  quick 
preparations,  and  it  was  only  when  she  had  watched  him 
dart  off  at  a  gallop,  noiseless  and  swift  as  a  swallow's 
flight,  that  she  re-entered  the  house,  and  sought  her  room 
and  matutinal  cold  shower. 

£  4t  £  4t  4t  4*  4> 

There  followed  a  prompt  departure  of  the  little  party 
from  "The  Palace  of  Thought"  —  aptly  renamed  by  the 
General,  "The  Palace  of  Deeds."  During  the  last  days 
of  the  sojourn  Alain  and  Sacha  had  been  ideal  lovers,  he 
adoring  in  silence  when  not  alone  with  her,  she  sweetly 
tender  at  each  and  every  moment,  her  velvety  eyes  shin- 
ing with  a  sort  of  grateful  trust  in  him  that  easily  passed 
for  love.  They  were  seldom  apart,  and  with  every  new 
hour  she  discovered  some  trait  of  his  character  that  at- 
tracted her  more  and  more.  He,  poor  fellow,  was  long 
past  the  possibility  of  any  enhancement  of  his  admira- 
tion for  this  bit  of  pink-and-white  perfection — lovely, 
loving,  and  lovable — who  belonged  to  him  heart  and  soul, 

226 


SNOW-FIRE 

as  she  herself  often  told  him,  as  if — though  of  that  he 
would  never  have  thought — she  wished  to  anchor  the 
fact  solidly  in  her  own  mind  by  constant  repetition. 

Kotchinine,  with  admirable  discretion,  had  retired  at 
once  into  the  background,  and  as  soon  as  they  reached 
the  coast,  made  a  firm  friend  of  the  yacht's  captain,  a  dis- 
tinguished ex-naval  officer,  by  practically  occupying  his 
chart-room,  and  working  there  like  a  galley-slave  over 
staff  maps,  while  sharing  with  him  box  after  box  of 
choicest  Havanas — a  weed  indispensable  to  the  stubborn 
travail  of  the  young  officer's  brain.  Daria  and  Neriguine 
generally  sat  well  aft  under  a  gayly  striped  awning,  read- 
ing, smoking  cigarettes,  and  drinking  yellow  tea,  but 
speaking  very  little.  Several  times  Neriguine  felt  his 
heart  contract  with  sympathy  and^pity  when  he  caught 
the  expression  of  his  beautiful  companion's  eyes  as  she 
gazed  at  the  blue  horizon.  He  had  not  lived  in  vain,  had 
this  gray-haired  commander,  and  he  knew  much  and 
guessed  more  of  what  her  state  of  mind  must  be.  For 
years  he  had  seen  her  suffer  bravely,  without  once  winc- 
ing or  faltering;  then  the  Urlansky  incident  had  begun, 
but  he  had  never  found  it  in  his  heart  to  blame  her.  And 
now  she  had  to  fight  for  the  continuance  of  her  one  ray  of 
personal  happiness,  —  at  what  cost  to  herself!  Sacha 
the  grizzled  warrior  did. not  like  or  admire.  He  thought 
of  Alain  as  so  much  good  material  wasted.  Many  a  time 
he  had  watched  from  secluded  ball-room  corners  the 
young  widow's  "flirtation"  with  Serge,  and  for  the  latter's 
share  in  it,  at  least,  he  could  feel  only  wonder  and  dis- 
approval. These  two  might  be  separated  forever  by  the 
marriage  just  arranged,  but  the  skeptic  in  Neriguine 
made  him  reluctant  to  believe  in  "  forevers,"  so  he  did  not 
anticipate  with  joy  the  arrival  in  Petersburg.  Puzzled 
and  heavy  of  heart,  he  sat  beside  Daria,  a  book  opened 

16  227 


SNOW- FIRE 

on  the  reading-stand  at  his  elbow,  lighting  dozens  of 
cigarettes,  only  to  throw  them  overboard  after  a  few  hur- 
ried puffs;  while  she,  leaning  against  the  cushions  of  her 
chair,  gazed  and  gazed  on  at  the  azure  haze  floating  be- 
tween sea  and  sky,  the  light,  faintly  gilded  ripples  wrink- 
ling the  lulled  Mediterranean,  an  occasional  Neapolitan 
corailleur,  or  the  vaguely  gray  plume  of  smoke  from  a 
distant  steamer. 

Once  she  suddenly  turned,  and,  touching  her  old  friend's 
brown  hand,  said,  quietly:  "Why  do  you  worry,  Ydfime- 
Nikolaich?  You  know  so  well  that  all  I  can  do  is  to 
grin  and  bear  it." 

The  General  started.  "You  should  not  do  any  mind- 
reading,"  he  murmured.  "It  is  a  bad  practice,  whether 
one  deciphers  friend  or  foe."  Then  quickly  grasping 
her  slim  fingers  and  bending  toward  her,  added  (he  had 
known  her  so  long  it  mattered  little  how  he  addressed 
her) :  "  Don't  keep  so  harsh  a  hold  upon  yourself  when 
you  are  alone  with  me,  my  poor  child!  Let  yourself  go; 
it  will  do  you  good,  and  make  future  trouble  easier."  At 
that  instant  the  rippling  breeze  bore  to  them  the  merry 
laugh  of  Sacha,  who,  curled  up  beside  Alain  somewhere 
for'ard,  was  throwing  little  balls  of  bread -filled  pink 
paper  to  a  flock  of  snowy  gulls,  fighting  for  them,  wing- 
tip  to  wing- tip,  just  above  the  wrinkling  wavelets. 

"You  think  they  will  be  happy,  do  you  not?"  Daria 
asked,  anxiously. 

He  hesitated.  "No  one  is  absolutely  happy,"  he  said, 
attempting  to  smooth  his  words  by  a  smile  that  did  not 
lead  her  astray.  "  He  is  a  splendid  chap  who  will  always 
know  the  right  path  to  take.  She — well,  she  is  lovely 
enough  to  be  forgiven  a  few  defects.  Pretty  women's 
failings  are  mostly  condoned  by  the  masculine  element 
— and  more  especially  by  the  men  who  love  them.  Of 

228 


SNOW-FIRE 

course,  she  may  grow  more,  more — 'serious'  is  the  only 
word  I  can  find.  The  coming  of  a  baby  might  accom- 
plish that — or  a  real  sorrow.  So  far  she  is  merely  an 
extraordinarily  winning  little  creature  who  cannot  know 
what  she  really  wants,  but  is  ready  to  be  either  a  saint 
or  the  reverse,  according  to  the  force  of  circumstances. 
At  any  rate,  de  Coetmen  worships  her;  but  he  is  no  fool, 
and  might,  I  fancy,  prove  on  occasion  strict  to  the  point 
of  severity — which  is  reassuring  to  think  of.  I  wish  the 
Grodno  Hussars  were  not  stationed  in  Petersburg  now,  all 
the  same." 

"I  think  I  could  have  them  moved  elsewhere,"  Daria 
murmured,  with  eyes  averted  and  hands  tightly  clasped. 

"No,"  the  General  said,  decisively,  "you  should  have 
no  further  hand  in  all  this.  Drop  into  the  background. 
As  it  is,  I  fear  there  will  be  only  too  much — er — man- 
oeuvring— attributed  to  you." 

"Justly  so?"  she  calmly  inquired. 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  The  mere  fact  that 
these  young  people  became  engaged  under  your  roof  and 
protection  is  enough  to  set  tongues  wagging." 

"Simply  because  I  brought  them  together?"  she  im- 
patiently rejoined. 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  And,"  he  added,  with  a  keen  glance, 
"  I  am  also  afraid  that  you  are  letting  even  so  small  a 
responsibility  worry  you.  Good  God!  have  not  dozens 
of  couples  met  at  your  various  residences  and  fallen  in 
love?  You  have  a  genius  for  self-torture,  Daria-Mikae- 
lovna.  Why  don't  you  let  the  troubled  bury  their 
troubles,  as  the  dead  bury  their  dead?" 

A  curious  shiver  ran  over  Daria's  shoulders,  and  she 
sat  bolt  upright,  suddenly  pale  and  haggard. 

"Until  the  worms  have  eaten  them  all?"  she  asked, 
unsteadily. 

229 


SNOW-FIRE 

"You  are  allowing  yourself  to  become  unstrung," 
Neriguine  sharply  replied.  "  When  I  said  just  now  '  Let 
yourself  go  when  you  are  alone  with  me,  your  old  ser- 
vitor,' I  did  not  mean  quite  this  —  this,  which  is  un- 
worthy of  the  plucky  Grande  Dame  I  have  known  and 
admired  so  long." 

"You  are  right,"  she  answered,  simply.  "I  will  not 
yield  to  such  weakness  again." 

"You  wonderful  woman!"  he  exclaimed,  enthusiasm 
vibrating  in  his  voice.  "Good  God!  why  has  life  been 
made  so  impossibly  hard  for  you?  I  cannot  forgive 
Heaven  for  such  unjust  decrees!" 

Again  she  nestled  in  her  cushions,  while  he  nervously 
lit  his  hundredth  cigarette.  Once  more  on  the  freshen- 
ing breeze  the  clear  laugh  of  Sacha  rang  out,  a  silver 
music  of  youth  and  flowers  and  springtime,  but  neither 
heard  it  now. 

They  were  to  reach  port  the  next  morning,  and  the 
affianced  couple  strolled  out  on  deck  after  dinner,  "to 
see  the  moon  rise"  as  they  carefully  explained,  leaving 
the  three  others  to  play  whist  with  a  dummy.  The  night 
was  one  to  tempt  the  least  poetically  inclined,  a  clear 
pellucid  wind-blown  sapphire  above  and  below,  and  wide- 
eyed  Southern  stars  that  by  a  curious  optical  illusion — 
due  perhaps  to  a  lingering  band  of  lighter  hue  in  the  west 
— seemed  to  point  their  clear  silver  with  prismatic  colors : 
vivid  pink,  shaded  violet,  and  delicate  luminous  green. 
Already  the  welcome  of  the  land  breeze  was  before  them, 
more  royal  than  the  Kings  of  the  East  with  frankincense 
and  myrrh  amid  the  vast  briny  savor  of  the  open  sea, 
and  now  with  the  rising  moon  sudden  zigzag  darts  of 
flying-fish  close  abeam  gave  for  Alain  the  last  and  most 
fairy  glamour  to  "La  Nacelle  qui  porte  mes  amours!1' 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  Sacha  asked,  pinching  the 

230 


SNOW-FIRE 

arm  upon  which  she  leaned,  in  the  coaxingly  impatient 
manner  she  often  adopted  when  en  t$te-ci-tete  with  her 
fiance*.  "What's  the  use  of  coming  out  here  if  you're 
going  to  be  as  glum  as  an  owl,  and  not  amuse  me  a  bit!" 

He  captured  the  cruel  little  fingers  and  kissed  them. 
"I  was  looking  at  those  silver-fish,"  he  said.  "Aren't 
they  exquisite  sea-moths!  There  should  be  floating  sea- 
flowers  for  them,  don't  you  think?" 

"  Y  .  .  .  e  .  .  .  s,"  Sacha  carelessly  drawled,  half  glan- 
cing only  at  the  shining  squadrons,  "  and,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  there  are  sea  anemones,  aren't  there? — only  they  don't 
float.  But  I  thought  you  had  sworn  that  you  would 
never  admire  again  anybody  or  anything  in  the  world 
but  me!"  She  was  pouting  deliciously,  and,  clasping  her 
close  to  him,  he  awkwardly  put  the  new-old  lover's  query: 

"Then  you  do  love  me  a  little  bit?" 

She  deftly  disengaged  herself,  and  turned  her  back 
deliberately  upon  him.  "  You  always  ask  that  same  silly 
question,"  she  grumbled.  "What  should  I  marry  you 
for  otherwise?"  The  point  seemed  to  him  well  taken, 
if  a  little  harshly  as  far  as  his  rather  sensitive  feelings 
were  concerned.  But  of  course  she  was  right.  What 
should  she  marry  him  for  indeed,  save  for  that?  And 
just  then  one  particularly  high-flyer  of  a  fish  cut  a  wild 
caper  which  landed  it  upon  the  white  deck,  where  it 
desperately  beat  its  glittering  pointed  wings.  In  a 
second  Alain  had  reached  the  struggling  little  creature, 
and,  quickly  lifting  it  in  both  hands,  dropped  it  over- 
board to  the  waves  again. 

"Can't  you  let  those  silly  beastlets  alone?"  snapped 
Sacha — her  usual  meekness  was  decidedly  leaving  her 
in  the  lurch.  But  seeing  Alain's  frown,  she  glided  to 
him  at  once,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  said, 
in  an  entirely  different  tone :  "  Forgive  me,  I  am  jealous 

231 


SNOW-FIRE 

of  everything  to-night.  It's  our  last  on  board,  and  I 
want  it  all  to  ourselves.  Don't  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  my  fairy,"  he  replied,  smiling;  "I  only  wanted 
to  put  him  back  where  he  belonged.  Don't  you  think 
even  the  little  'beastlets'  have  a  right  to  pity?" 

"Is  that  your  reason  for  rejoining  me  in  Africa?"  she 
asked,  glancing  tantalizingly  at  him  from  the  folds  of  the 
lace  scarf  thrown  about  her  head. 

"Why  .  .  .  what  d'you  mean?"  he  questioned  again. 

"  You  know  the  famous  lines. ' '    And  she  began  to  quote  : 

"Deux  pigeons  s'aimaient  d1  amour  tendre ! 
L'un  d'eux,  *s'ennuyant  au  logis 
Fut  assez  fou  pour  entreprendre 
Un  voyage  en  lointain  pays!'1 

Alain's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  She  had  already 
loved  him  in  Petersburg,  then?  In  a  flash  he  recalled 
their  breathless  interview  in  the  hall  of  her  palace,  her 
previous  demand  for  his  help  and  advice  in  deciding 
about  the  long  voyage  with  the  Grand-Duchess.  What 
an  inconceivable  idiot  he  had  been — blind  as  a  mole 
under  his  mountain  of  shyness  and  obstinate  self-de- 
preciation! What  must  she  have  thought  of  him  and 
his  insulting  silence? 

She,  meanwhile  still  watching  him  from  the  corner  of 
one  teasing  eye,  thought  it  fun  to  urge  his  remorse  along. 
"  And  you  found  me  at  last,  '  Trainant  Vaile  el  tirant  le 
pied,  demi-morte  et  demi-boiteuse ,'  didn't  you?  And  yet 
you  refused  to  accord  your  pity,  and  you  actually  forced 
me  to  come  boldly  forward  and  claim  you  as  my  life's 
companion.  So  now  if  we  want  to  travel,  even  if  it  be 
'aux  rives  prochaines,  soyons  I'un  &  Vautre  un  monde 
toujours  beau,  toujours  divers,  toujours  nouveaul'"  She 
laughed  at  her  clever  adaptation  of  the  verses,  but  all  he 

232 


SNOW-FIRE 

thought  of  was  to  smother  her  with  kisses  .  .  .  this  ador- 
able child  who  piqued  and  plagued  him,  and  yet  made 
him  the  happiest  of  mortals.  Could  any  living  woman 
have  told  her  love  more  exquisitely,  more  tenderly? 

The  flying-fish  were  forgotten,  the  red-gold  profile  of 
the  moon  rose  and  rose,  no  doubt  to  see  better  those 
fortunate  beings,  clinging  to  each  other  as  though  death 
itself  could  never  tear  them  apart.  There  was  something 
a  trifle  derisive  in  that  sharply  defined  crescent  high  up 
in  the  melting  darkness  of  the  blue.  Perchance  it  had 
learned  in  those  countless  centuries,  during  which  it  had 
forever  renewed  its  imperishable  foeauty,  how  to  read 
hearts,  for,  lulled  like  a  drowsy  child  in  her  lover's  arms, 
a  thought  had  just  come  to  Sacha:  "If  it  were  Serge 
now  .  .  .  would  I  not  be  more  content?"  Her  eyes  closed 
tightly,  and  a  thrill  of  genuine  self-contempt  made  her 
tremble  in  the  shelter  she  had  chosen.  "  I  must  be  a  bad 
— a  very  bad  woman,"  she  thought,  and  Alain  heard  a 
little  sob,  which  brought  him  to  his  knees  before  her, 
murmuring — he  the  reticent  and  self-contained — torrents 
of  love-words  and  passionate  promises  to  make  her  happy, 
ever  and  ever  happy. 

******* 

After  the  glow  of  the  Sahel  the  lingering  snow  and  ice 
of  Petersburg  were  probably  too  great  a  contrast  to  face, 
for  the  travellers,  when  they  arrived,  seemed  but  a  gloomy 
and  discontented  party  indeed.  Sacha  had  not  tele- 
graphed home  a  word  of  her  return,  and  eagerly  followed 
the  Grand- Duchess  to  the  Palais-Stepan,  where,  of  course, 
everything  which  means  luxury  and  comfort  awaited  her. 
Tired  and  dispirited,  she  willingly  obeyed  her  hostess's 
"command"  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  as  long  as  possible. 

"  You  must  rest,  and,  moreover,  it  is  imperative  that 
you  should  not  show  yourself  until  matters  are  settled 

233 


SNOW-FIRE 

with  your  mother.  To-morrow  morning  your  wedding- 
dress  will  be  here  for  you  to  try  on.  I  have  arranged  all 
these  minor  details  by  letter."  ("Minor  details!"  Sacha 
thought,  raising  her  tired  eyes  to  the  caissoned  ceiling.) 
41 1  think  you  will  like  it,  though  naturally  a  widow  who 
marries  again  cannot  expect  all  the  folderols  of  a  first- 
hand bride!  Still,  with  peach-tints  so  faint  that  they 
merge  into  ivory  whiteness,  cascades  of  antique  lace,  and 
our  blessed  Kakoshnik,  which  serves  us  so  many  good 
turns,  one  can  achieve  a  satisfactory  effect.  Woe  be  to 
your  couturier,  however,  if  he  has  not  seized  my  orders 
on  the  wing  and  assimilated  them  with  equal  prompt- 
ness! I  will  see  him  presently!" 

"But,"  objected  the  languid  Sacha  of  the  moment, 
"is  Your  Imperial  Highness  never  tired  .  .  .  never?" 

44 Tired!"  Daria  exclaimed.  "What  is  there  to  tire 
one  in  flying  across  Europe  as  painlessly  and  cosily  as 
we  have  just  done?  I  slept  most  of  the  time,  anyhow, 
and  am  now  ready  for  anything,  I  assure  you.  So  don't 
worry,  and  go  nestle  somewhere  in  peace.  Nestling 
seems  to  have  become  a  habit  with  you  lately!" 

With  this  Parthian  arrow  Daria  went  to  her  own  rooms, 
interviewed  a  drove  of  people,  spoke  to  the  heads  of  the 
household,  and  finally  sent  word  to  her  lord — who,  she 
had  ascertained,  had  just  driven  into  the  Cour  d'honneur — 
that  she  wished  to  see  f  him  in  the  salon  adjoining  her 
favorite  room.  This  probably  would  not  be  a  pleasant 
interview,  she  knew,  and  before  facing  its  annoyance 
she  reached  for  a  bottle  of  powerful  smelling-salts,  in- 
haled it  deeply  once  or  twice,  then,  girded  for  the  battle, 
went  to  meet  him. 

Such  messages  as  had  just  been  brought  to  him,  Stepan 
was  aware,  must  not  be  disregarded,  and  he  was  already 
Standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  when  his  wife  entered. 

234 


SNOW-FIRE 

"How  have  you  fared?"  he  asked,  coming  forward  and 
kissing,  first  her  hand  and  then  her  smooth  brow. 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  trying  to  dis- 
engage her  fingers  from  his  broad  palm;  but  he  retained 
them  with  gentle  force,  and,  bending  his  gigantic  form, 
abruptly  touched  her  lips. 

"Oh!"  was  all  she  said.  But  the  swift  raising  of  her 
handkerchief  to  her  mouth  spoke  unequivocally  for  her. 

"Naughty!  Naughty!"  he  reproved.  "And  after  so 
many  eons  of  time — too!" 

"That's  just  it!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  quiver  of  anger. 
"One  loses  the  habit,  you  know." 

He  scanned  from  head  to  foot  through  his  monocle  the 
lovely  face  and  figure  of  the  imperial  woman  who,  official- 
ly at  least,  was  his,  and  smiled. 

"  //  ne  tient  qu'  b  vous,  ma  charmante,  de  reprendre  avec 
moi  le  chemin  de  Cythere!"  he  said,  with  a  courteous  bow, 
so  daintily  touched  with  chivalrous  adoration  that,  know- 
ing him  though  she  did,  she  marvelled  in  her  heart  at 
this  Protean  husband  of  hers. 

"Be  serious,  please,"  she  retorted,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  contemptuously,  "we  have  no  time  for  non- 
sense of  this  sort,  Stepan." 

"Permit  me  at  least  to  regret  it  profoundly,"  he  re- 
plied, coolly  accepting  the  well-cushioned  chair  she 
pushed  toward  him  with  her  narrow  foot.  "But  since 
we  have  to  be  serious,  let  us  begin  at  once." 

Daria,  seating  herself  on  the  arm  of  a  near-by  sofa, 
gazed  at  him  for  a  second  through  half-closed  lids  with 
a  curious  glint  of  mockery. 

"  First  of  all,"  she  said,  between  smiling  lips,  "  has  some 
misfortune  overtaken  Mademoiselle  Tata?" 

"What  makes  you  conceive  so  awful  a  thought?" 

"Your  'hospitable'  greeting!" 

235 


SNOW-FIRE 

"My  dear  Daria,"  he  drawled,  plunging  his  nose  in  the 
knot  of  violets  adorning  his  coat,  "you  are,  I  fear,  in- 
corrigible! Will  you  never  believe  in  my  unaltered 
fealty?  See,  I  wear  your  colors,  a  few  dewy  flowerets 
snatched  en  passant  from  one  of  the  bouquets  brought 
for  you  each  morning  during  your  absence,  and  which  I 
bade  them  preserve  and  carefully  dry  against  your  return, 
so  that  you  might  not  fall  into  the  error  of  thinking  your- 
self forgotten!" 

"Thanks  for  this  truly  marital  attention,"  she  lightly 
replied,  not  the  twitch  of  a  muscle  or  even  the  quiver  of 
an  eyebrow  betraying  the  least  annoyance.  "But  you 
were  always  as  generous  an  enemy,  Stepan  ...  as  ... 
the  skilled  duellist  you  are.  And  now  that  our  little 
personal  parries  and  thrusts  are  done  with,  let  us,  as  you 
said  just  now,  turn  to  more  serious  matters." 

"Very  good,  my  beautiful  task-mistress.  Have  you 
deigned  to  be  satisfied  with  the  carrying  out  of  your 
demands?  Alas!  the  few — the  very  few — letters  you 
favored  me  with  savored  strongly  of  what  we  call  in  the 
army  'the  order  of  the  day.'" 

"You  have  done  admirably,"  she  praised,  her  face  still 
as  expressionless  as  that  of  the  marble  replica  of  Mile's 
Aphrodite,  rising  behind  her  from  a  mass  of  pink-and- 
white  azaleas. 

Again  he  bowed,  and  in  a  voice  which  so  carefully  avoid- 
ed the  note  of  persiflage  that  its  undertone  of  insolence 
became  clearly  discernible,  he  resumed: 

"I  cannot  boast  of  having  understood  the  full  extent 
of  such  plans  as  yours,  but  now  and  then  I  gleaned  a 
hint  which  helped  me  greatly  .  .  .  very  greatly  ...  to 
execute  them  more  or  less  well.  Still,  now  that  we  are 
so — joyfully — reunited,  would  it  be  asking  too  much  to 
demand  from  you  a  short  explanation?" 

236 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Demand?"  she  echoed. 

" '  Crave,'  I  mean,  of  course.  That  is  the  correct  form 
for  an  eternal  suppliant  like  myself.  You  see,  I  went  to 
much  trouble  in  your  service,  my  dearest,  and  deserve, 
I  really  believe,  some  small  reward.  Remember,  you  re- 
fused the  first  one,  so  you  owe  me  '  un  betit  bour-poire ' — 
as  the  waiters  say  in  Switzerland." 

Daria,  during  this  speech,  had  broken  off  a  twig  of  pink 
azalea,  and  was  playing  with  it.  "State  plainly  what 
you  want  to  know,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"Then,  in  one  word,  will  you  explain  to  me  why  you 
appear  so  desirous  to  burden  de  Coetmen  with  that 
pocket-edition  of  a  Florian  shepherdess,  Sacha  Virianow  ? 
I  am  an  admirer  of  pretty  women" — here  Daria  nodded 
quietly,  as  if  recognizing  an  ^incontrovertible  and  public 
fact.  "Yes,"  Stepan  imperturbably  went  on,  ignoring 
his  wife's  approving  gesture,  "I  admire  pretty  women, 
why  deny  it  ? — it's  merely  a  proof  of  good  taste — but  that 
little  Sacha's  pink-and-whiteness  does  not  appeal  in  the 
least  to  me — not  in  the  least." 

"Alain  de  Coetmen  should  indeed  burn  a  candle  of 
gratitude  on  the  altar  where  husbands  go  to  pray  for 
safety — there  is  such  a  place,  I  think,  somewhere  in 
Finisterre.  Because  when  a  woman  does  appeal  to  you 
.  .  .  E  finita  la  Comedia  of  matrimonial  security,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it." 

Gravely  Stepan  rose,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  Daria's 
sleeve,  as  villagers  and  servants  of  the  humbler  class  do 
in  Russia. 

"This  goes  to  my  soul,"  he  murmured,  calmly  resum- 
ing his  seat.  "  Praise  from  you  is  praise  indeed — if  only 
for  its  rareness!" 

"Exactly — the  best  of  reasons!"  she  assented.  "I 
don't  quite  see,  however,  why  you  accuse  me  of  'bur- 

237 


SNOW-FIRE 

dening' — I  hope  I  am  not  misquoting  you — Monsieur  de 
Coetmen  with  Sacha's  future." 

The  Grand-Duke,  toying  with  the  violets,  took  his  time 
to  answer.  Probably  he  was  giving  his  tongue  the  seven 
regulation  turns,  and  Daria,  determined  not  to  let  her- 
self be  put  out  of  temper,  rocked  gently  back  and  forth 
on  her  precarious  seat,  both  feet  off  the  ground,  her 
Cinderella  slippers  of  beaded  bronze  playing  hide-and- 
seek  in  and  out  of  a  frou-frou  of  Cluny  lace. 

"Well,  you  see,"  Stepan  at  last  began,  "to  my  dull 
brain  there  must  have  been  some  reason  for  your  meteoric 
departure  to  warmer  climes,  with  this  to  you — of  that 
I  am  absolutely  certain — insupportable  companion. 
Furthermore,  your  letter  from  the  C6te-d'Azur,  explaining 
that  since  our  Imperial  nephew — or  nephewess,  you  didn't 
seem  quite  clear  which  it  was — insisted  on  an  escort  for 
you  ladies,  I  was  to  procure  the  despatch  of  Neriguine 
and  Kotchinine,  naturally  set  me  puzzling.  The  only 
thing  clear  was  that  through  my  exertions  the  body- 
guard was  to  be  of  the  opera-bouffe  order.  Neriguine, 
encore  passe;  he  is  a  cheerful  old  codger,  and  quite  a 
favorite  with  us  all.  But  Kotchinine!  Good  Heavens! 
You  at  table  every  day  with  the  original  Russian  bear, 
that  nobody  would  dream  of  scratching  with  any  hope 
of  finding  even  a  Tartar  underneath!  My  very  brain 
went  cold  in  my  head.  But  when  de  Coetmen  was  added 
to  the  eclectic  collection,  vous  savez  bien  par  qui,  I  thought 
I  saw  a  faint  ray  of  light — beneath  the  door,  as  it  were." 

"  I  trust  you  did  not  imagine  that  I  personally  had  any 
designs  with  regard  to  the  blond  Hussar?" 

"Strangely  enough,  no!" 

Daria  laughed  a  whole-hearted  laugh,  and,  twisting  side- 
ways, glanced  at  her  husband  with  eyes  suddenly  alight 
with  an  amusement  that  after  an  apparent  struggle  was 

238 


SNOW-FIRE 

dawningly  reflected  in  his  own.  "  That  '  strangely '  gives 
me  a  bad  impression.  You  are  losing  your  lightness  of 
hand,  Stepan,  depend  upon  it!  Moreover,  I  don't  quite 
see  why  you  trouble  your  head  with  all  this — a  head  al- 
ready oppressed  by  weighty  matters!  Still  I  don't  mind 
assuring  you  that  I  warned  Alain  de  Coetmen — delicate- 
ly, of  course — against  Sacha;  and  if  the  young  people  at 
the  last  suddenly  threw  themselves  over  the  guard-rails 
into  matrimony,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine." 

"You  seem  somewhat  upset,  though!" 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  enough  to  upset  the  nerves 
of  a  regiment  of  monoliths  ?  They  claim  now,  don't  they, 
that  even  granite  has  life?  See  here,  Stepan,  we  have 
until  now — by  a  miracle — remained  good  friends  after 
a  fashion,  haven't  we?" 

"A  most  united  couple,  Doushka"  he  gently  inter- 
posed; "not  mere  friends,  surely!" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "A  couple  just  exactly 
like  what  couples  of  our  sort — intelligent  couples,  I  mean 
— should  be.  But  lately  you  have  tried  to  pull  the 
blanket  too  much  to  your  side — a  sadly  frayed  side,  by 
the'.way — and  as  I  am  resolved  to  keep  hold  of  my  share 
of  it — a  more  presentable  share  than  yours,  you  must 
admit — we'll  end  by  tearing  it  in  the  middle,  which,  con- 
sidering the  children — and  many  other  things — will  be 
unwise.  Supposing,  therefore,  that  you  stop  tugging,  and 
let — well — friendship  mend  the  rent;  the  friendship  of 
two  drifting  castaways,  let  us  say,  who  share  their  mis- 
fortunes and  their  provisions  with  unabated  cheerfulness 
and — tact." 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  he,  following  her  example, 
they  stood  opposite  each  other,  both  splendid  and  tall — 
an  Imperial  couple  indeed,  whose  profiles  graven  on  a 
medal  would  have  made  a  people  proud. 

239 


SNOW-FIRE 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  Grand-Duke's  eyes  now, 
and  her  own  lips  barely  repressed  a  smile. 

"Am  I  beaten  again?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"On  your  own  ground,  remember!"  she  countered, 
smiling  outright  now.  "My  good  Stepan,  how  foolish 
you  can  be  when  you  don't  try." 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  mourned,  with  a  tragedy  sigh. 
"  But  friends  we  remain,  so  as  to  spare  that  blanket  you 
mentioned  any  further  damage." 

"Of  course  we  do."  At  that  moment  many  compas- 
sionate ghosts  had  risen  from  the  past — the  past  of  her 
love  for  him — to  stand  about  this  man.  "And  now  run 
along,"  she  added,  pushing  him  by  the  shoulders  toward 
the  door.  "I  have  such  oceans  of  things  to  see  to! 
You'll  not  speak  of  your  queer  suppositions  to  anybody, 
will  you  ?' ' 

"That,"  he  said,  with  recovered  gravity,  "goes  with- 
out saying." 

"Then,"  she  dictated,  standing  on  tiptoe,  with  her 
hands  still  upon  his  shoulders,  "  promise  not  to  take  too 
much  of  anything  for  a  week." 

"For  a  whole  week?  Oh,  cruel!  But  let  me  see — it 
might  amuse  me  to  find  out  if  I  can  keep  a  promise  so 
long.  I  imagine  I  never  did." 

"And  I  am  sure  of  it.  Try  now,  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing — and  my  peace  of  mind." 

"This  last  decides  me.  How  could  it  be  otherwise?" 
For  a  second  he  seemed  to  waver  between  two  impulses. 
Then  pointing  his  finger,  first  toward  his  breast  and  then 
to  hers,  he  solemnly  declared:  "We  are  a  model  pair, 
you  and  I — and  after  so  many  years,  too!  It  is  remark- 
able how  we  understand  each  other!"  And  then  he  was 
gone,  leaving  her  with  eyes  not  quite  dry,  but  her  mocking 
little  smile  still  lingering  about  her  lips. 

240 


SNOW-FIRE 

Slowly  she  stepped  to  the  bell  that  summoned  the 
Majordomo,  and  as  she  went  she  was  murmuring,  despite 
herself,  the  weary  regret  of  all  those  who  have  made  a 
muddle  of  their  lives,  "Si  jeunesse  savait,  si  vieillesse 
pouvait."  Yet  when  the  great  official — to  call  him  any- 
thing else  would  have  been  an  insult  to  his  magnificent 
deportment — bowed  himself  obsequiously  into  the  room, 
she  was  sitting  bolt-upright  at  her  desk,  note-book  and 
pen  in  hand,  and  looking  as  calm  and  untroubled  in  her 
magnetic  beauty  as  he  had  ever  seen  her  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

For  the  wound  ye  curse  ye  are  none  the  worse, 

Or  past  not  the  hope  of  heal; 
Since  white  and  still  to  the  thrust  of  ill 

Is  the  stricken  of  the  steel. 

M.  M. 

SERGE  URLANSKY  was  becoming  weary  of  his  endless 
search;  thread  after  thread  broke  in  his  hand  with  ex- 
asperating persistency,  and  for  a  few  days  past  the 
thought  of  writing  to  the  Tsar  concerning  the  apparent 
uselessness  of  pursuing  the  affair  any  further  hammered 
continually  at  the  doors  of  his  tired  brain.  That  there 
was  somewhere  such  a  little  being  as  he  had  been  sent 
to  find  he  scarcely  doubted;  but  to  seek  for  the  child 
amid  the  Caucasian  fastnesses,  when  the  whole  scanty 
population  of  that  part  of  the  world  seemed  leagued 
against  him,  was  uncommonly  like  the  proverbial  quest 
for  the  needle  in  the  haystack.  Also  his  city-bred  heart 
was  weary  to  the  point  of  nausea  of  those  eternal  solitudes, 
and  the  magnificence  of  the  flower-clad  mountains  that 
had  for  a  time  been  like  an  inspiration,  now  palled  in- 
expressibly upon  him.  He  yearned  for  St.  Petersburg, 
for  his  glittering  regiment,  his  horses,  his  luxuries,  and 
his  pleasures;  but  more  than  all  he  yearned  for  Sacha. 
If  he  stayed  away  much  longer  she  would  forget  him, 
he  told  himself,  with  surprising  insight  into  her  airy- 
fairy  nature;  and  Daria — Daria,  who  might  possibly  have 
had  a  hand  in  his  exile — what  of  her  ?  Why  did  she  not 

242 


SNOW-FIRE 

have  him  called  back?    Had  she  also  become  tired  of 
him? 

A  strange  feeling  of  abandonment  and  unendurable 
loneliness  overtook  him  late  one  afternoon  as  he  tramped 
down  to  the  dwelling-place  of  the  moment  with  Y6gor, 
and  stopping  suddenly  in  the  shade  of  a  lordly  group  of 
eucalypti,  he  sat  down  on  a  bowlder,  and  rested  his  head 
in  his  hands. 

Ye*gor,  tired  too,  but  merely  as  a  soldier  may  be  when 
nearing  the  end  of  the  march,  checked  in  front  of  his 
master,  and  fixed  anxious  eyes  upon  him.  All  this  might 
in  the  end  be  for  his  good,  but  the  process  was  painful, 
and  the  faithful,  tender-hearted  servitor  who  had  rocked 
him,  a  curly  headed  baby,  in  his  arms,  rebelled  at  the  con- 
tinuation of  this  heroic  cure.  To  him  the  malady  was 
still  called  "  Sacha";  but,  then,  why  did  not  their  Grand- 
Duchess  write,  or  even  come  herself  to  share  her  Serge's 
exile?  He  had  seen  her  accomplish  more  perilous  and 
difficult  tasks  for  his  sake.  Had  everybody  gone  mad 
up  there  ?  And  mechanically  his  eyes  turned  Northward 
with  the  thought.  He  had  so  often  of  late  tried  to  help 
and  encourage  his  young  master  to  be  patient,  that 
now  he  dared  not  venture  to  do  so  again,  and  it  was 
Serge  who,  after  many  oppressive  minutes,  broke  the 
silence. 

"It's  no  use  Ydgor,"  he  muttered,  still  keeping  his  chin 
in  his  hands,  "  I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer  ...  I  must  go 
back!" 

Ye"gor  shifted  his  position,  and  leaning  heavily  on  his 
mountaineer's  staff,  grunted  in  non-committal  fashion. 

"  I  cannot  stay  away  any  longer,"  Serge  said  again,  and 
brusquely  dropping  his  hands,  raised  toward  Ye"gor  a  face 
distorted  as  if  with  physical  pain,  and  almost  childishly 
anguished  eyes. 

17  243 


SNOW-FIRE 

Down  fell  the  stick  on  the  path,  and  in  a  moment  the 
old  man  was  kneeling  at  his  "child's"  feet. 

"Oh,  my  little  lamb,"  he  pleaded,  "to  disobey  the 
Tsar — think  of  it  ...  it  is  a  crime!  He  commanded  you 
to  stay  here  till  you  had  found  at  least  some  traces,  and 
if  you  go  back  empty-handed,  what  will  happen  to  you?" 

"But,"  the  young  man  argued,  through  trembling 
lips,  "am  I  to  spend  my  life  at  this  foolish  business? 
We've  worked  hard,  you  and  I,  old  friend,  and  what  have 
we  to  show  for  it?" 

"  Not  very  much  .  .  .  that  is  true  talk  .  .  .  yet  we  are 
pretty  nearly  certain  that  there  is  a  child  here  .  .  .  some- 
where." 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  satisfy  our  Little  Father  ? 
He  wants  evidence,  and  much  he  cares  what  we  endure 
in  getting  it!  Not  that  fatigue — physical  fatigue — mat- 
ters, of  course;  it's  the  only  thing  that  saves  me  from 
despair. . . .  Oh,  what  an  ass  I  am  to  talk  that  rot !  D'  you 
think  I'm  turning  coward,  Ye"gor — I,  a  soldier  and  the  son 
of  soldiers?" 

The  old  man's  eyes  and  hands  alone  answered  this 
absurd  question,  for,  like  all  Russians,  he  did  not  need 
actual  speech  to  express  his  thoughts,  and  the  look  and 
gesture  were  enough  for  Serge.  Then  a  luminous  idea 
pierced  through  the  haze  of  trouble  in  poor  Yegor's  mind, 
and  he  jumped  to  his  feet  with  the  elasticity  of  unwearied 
youth. 

"My  master,  we  have  not  been  down  to  the  shore  of 
late!"  he  cried,  his  words  tripping  over  one  another  in 
his  haste.  "Maybe  there  are  letters,  orders,  a  recall 
awaiting  you  at  the  appointed  place.  Why  not  start 
to-morrow  morning  at  dawn?  Why  not  try  and  find 
out,  at  least?" 

Serge  smote  himself  violently  on  the  head,  his  hand- 

344 


SNOW-FIRE 

some  face — now  so  sunburned  and  weather-beaten  that 
the  long,  blond  mustache  looked  faded  to  straw-color 
by  contrast — radiant  with  hope. 

"  Imbecile,  good-for-nothing,  brainless  idiot!"  he  apostro- 
phized himself,  with  that  wealth  of  objurgation  which  is 
one  of  the  most  ineradicable  of  Russian  characteristics. 
"  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  sooner  ?  But  what  can  be  ex- 
pected of  a  cretin  capable  on  occasion  of  acting  like  an 
hysterical  old  maid!  Not  to-morrow,  Ydgor,  but  this 
very  night  we'll  slide  down  to  the  coast.  I  can't  wait 
another  minute!" 

"But  remember  the  march  we  made  to-day.  Do  you 
want  to  kill  yourself,  my  sweet  honey  child  ?" 

"Kill  myself — rubbish!  Because  you  saw  me  behave 
like  a  sick  mule  just  now,  do  you  think  there's  no  nerve 
nor  muscle  left  in  me?  You  may  stay  at  the  inn,  for 
you're  right  enough — we  have  walked  a  lot  already. 
But  I ...  !" 

To  his  full  height  Ye*gor  drew  his  tall  form,  straight 
already  as  a  fir-tree,  his  honest  countenance  dark  with 
intense  reproach.  "Do  I  hear  Your  Nobility  aright?" 
he  fiercely  demanded,  his  savage  old  eyes  fixed  upon 
Serge.  "Am  I  to  understand  that  I  am  too  old  and 
feeble  to  do  so  plain  and  easy  a  duty  as  to  follow  my 
master  wherever  he  goes?" 

Serge  was  well  used  to  Yegor's  outbursts  of  red  rage 
whenever  he  thought  himself  slighted  or  deprived  of  his 
rights,  and  the  choleric  accents  of  this  extraordinary  ser- 
vant had  not  the  least  effect  upon  him.  He  thought  best 
to  pretend  anger,  nevertheless. 

"Here,  none  of  that!"  he  cried,  raising  his  voice  to 
thunder.  "Come,  give  me  your  hand!  I  am  cramped. 
Help  me  up!" 

"Oh,  my  young  rooster  is  tired-  maybe  his  spurs  are 

245 


SNOW-FIRE 

waxing  white,"  Ydgor  thought,  precipitating  himself  to 
obey  the  order,  "and  that's  why  he  is  peevish.  So  one 
might  as  well  forgive  him,"  he  mentally  concluded — 
exactly  the  outcome  Serge  had  been  aiming  at. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  mountains — shoot- 
ing upward  straight,  sword-like  rays  which  turned  tree 
and  bush  and  fern  into  pure  green-gold,  already  touched 
underneath  by  the  cool  blue  shades  of  gloaming ;  and  the 
narrow  path  of  trodden  grass  encroached  upon  by  leafage 
and  flowering  vines,  seemed  afloat  with  voluptuous  per- 
fume, enticing  the  traveller  to  resume  the  steep  descent, 
while  there  was  light  enough  between  the  walls  of  verdure 
rising  on  each  side  to  thread  its  graceful  loops  and  turns. 

"En  avant!  Vorwarts!  Avanti!  Go  ahead!"  Serge 
cried,  gayly,  to  Ye*gor,  who  did  not  need  the  final  Russian 
equivalent  to  understand  what  was  expected  of  him. 
Indeed  the  two  men,  refreshed  by  the  characteristic  inter- 
lude, swung  downward  at  the  double,  as  lightly  and 
easily  as  young  soldiers  might  have  done,  and  showing 
not  the  least  trace  of  their  past  listlessness.  The  moon 
had  already  arisen  when  they  reached  the  inn — a  huge, 
almost  Oriental  moon,  pouring  a  light  that  promised  to 
make  their  trip  coastward  as  easy  as  at  midday.  They 
hastily  swallowed  their  supper,  changed  their  mountaineer- 
ing garments  for  more  civilized  attire,  and  before  ten 
o'clock  were  off  again,  invigorated  by  a  presentiment, 
vague  at  first,  but  steadily  strengthening  with  continual 
discussion,  that  they  would  find  at  their  journey's  end 
something  decisive  with  regard  to  their  immediate  future. 
What  a  glorious  green  and  silver  night  it  was,  but  Allah, 
c'etait  ecrit !  the  beauty  was  destined  to  be  on  the  surface 
only. 

They  saw  the  great  moon  reach  her  zenith,  glide  lower 
and  lower  down  the  steep  westering  slopes,  until,  as  they 

246 


SNOW-FIRE 

turned  a  wooded  shoulder,  they  glimpsed  a  sombre  level, 
lit  to  greet  her  coming,  which  was  the  distant  sea.  Then 
the  whole  world  awoke,  swathed  in  pink  from  horizon  to 
horizon,  a  thousand  birds  began  to  sing  from  dew-laden 
copse  and  covert,  and  through  the  hazy  veil  masking  the 
entrance  of  a  gorge  they  began  to  distinguish  clustering 
roofs  and  chimneys  and  the  glint  of  waves. 

In  their  ardor  they  took  the  last  step-like  terraces  at  a 
run,  and  burst  breathless  into  the  main  room  of  the 
hostelry,  where  most  of  their  belongings  had  remained 
since  landing,  and  where  a  solitary  maid  was  employed 
in  tidying  up  an  already  spotless  place. 

"Is  the  post-office  open?"  was  Serge's  first  question. 

"  No,  not  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  the  short-petticoated 
girl  answered.  "But  Your  Excellencies  might  perhaps 
hurry  the  postmaster  a  little;  he  has  a  lazy  spirit,  and 
wants  shaking  up  now  and  then." 

"Their  Excellencies"  singly  and  collectively  at  once 
followed  this  advice,  and  it  may  be  presumed  that  the 
shaking  up  was  not  of  the  gentlest,  which  fact  procured 
Serge  the  pleasure  of  receiving  almost  immediately  one 
bulky  official-looking  envelope  bearing  the  heavy  Im- 
perial seal,  and  a  smaller  one  closed  •  by  dark-blue  wax, 
embossed  with  arms  he  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to 
examine  before  thrusting  it  into  his  pocket.  The  orders 
were  the  main  thing,  and  after  throwing  a  couple  of  gold 
pieces  on  the  counter  in  return  for  "loss  of  sleep,"  he 
shoved  Y£gor  out  of  the  door  toward  an  arbor  covered 
with  some  sort  of  native  clematis,  where  they  could  sit 
screened  and  in  peace. 

Ydgor's  habitual  delicacy  kept  him  standing  within  the 
circular  entrance  of  the  beehive  structure,  apparently 
admiring  the  white  fringe  of  foam  edging  the  delicious 
blue  of  the  sea. 

247 


SNOW-FIRE 

A  fist  dashed  furiously  down,  and  the  consequent  de- 
struction of  the  flimsy  rustic  table  where  his  master  had 
seated  himself,  made  the  old  man  jump  back  into  the 
green  dusk  inside,  where  Serge  was  raving — absolutely  and 
indubitably  raving — his  face  crimson,  his  eyes  half  out 
of  his  head,  and  his  fluent  tongue  unequivocally  busy 
with  those  long,  spitting,  whistling,  sneezing  Russian 
curses  that  should  really  relieve  the  mind  of  the  dis- 
tressed, if  only  for  their  awe-inspiring  sound.  At  his  feet 
lay  a  narrow-folded  document  and  a  small-writ  letter, 
both  torn  across,  and  when  Ye*gor  approached,  the  en- 
raged man  checked  his  fantastic  objurgations  to  roar  a 
thunderous  "Look  at  that!"  which  he  understood  as  a 
permission  to  take  cognizance  of  the  much  be-damned 
papers.  The  first  was  a  curtly  worded  command  to 
Captain  Count  Urlansky,  enjoining  him  to  remain  at  his 
present  post  until  further  orders ;  the  other  a  long  missive 
which,  after  one  glance,  Ye"gor  placed  with  almost  religious 
respect  upon  what  remained  still  standing  of  the  table. 
He  had  seen  the  signature,  and  knew  that  it  was  not 
for  such  as  he  to  read  what  went  before. 

"  Remain  here  till  further  orders!  What  did  I  tell  you, 
my  excellent  adviser?"  Serge  hoarsely  demanded,  his 
throat  parched  and  sore  with  swearing.  "  Remain  here 
indeed!  .  .  .  I'll  be  burned  alive  sooner,  or  shot  in  hollow 
square  before  I  obey  this.  Do  they  take  me  for  a  mario- 
nette? But  wait,  I'll  send  in  my  resignation  from  the 
army  .  .  .  the  Guard  .  .  .  and  all  the  cursed  machine !  Am 
I  a  slave,  a  serf,  a  political  prisoner,  to  be  kept  in  these 
rotten  mountains  for  the  rest  of  my  life!"  . 

Never  had  poor  Y£gor  seen  his  hot-tempered  boy  in 
such  an  uproar  of  fury,  and,  his  gray  head  sorrowfully 
bent,  he  crossed  himself  four  or  five  tmes,  rapidly  mum- 
bling a  powerful  exorcism  against  malignant  demons. 

248 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  What's  ailing  you  ?"  Serge  bellowed  at  him,  "Skatina,1 
Dourak!2  Can't  you  speak  out?" 

Yegor  might  with  right  have  objected  that  this  was  an 
absolute  impossibility  while  his  master  was  himself  mak- 
ing all  the  noise  the  arbor  could  conveniently  contain; 
but  overtaken  by  the  second  luminous  idea  in  twenty-four 
hours,  he  suddenly  laid  a  hand  upon  Serge's  sleeve,  crying : 
"The  other  letter!  What  does  it  say?" 

"The  other  letter?"  Serge  asked,  in  absolute  bewilder- 
ment, for  the  blood  was  surging  in  his  ears,  and  his  mouth 
felt  as  if  filled  with  sand. 

"The  one  you  put  in  your  pocket — the  tiny  little 
one!" 

Serge  stood  for  a  second  stock-still  before  attempting 
with  shaking  fingers  to  draw  forth  the  small  square  en- 
velope, and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  so  doing,  held  it 
in  his  hand,  overcome  by  a  presentiment  of  more  ill  luck 
which  made  him  hesitate  to  tear  it  open;  Yegor  mean- 
while, wholly  carried  away  by  the  emotions  of  the  mo- 
ment, bending  close  over  him,  as  if  to  protect  him  from 
other  and  yet  greater  evils.  But  as  the  young  Guards- 
man began  to  read,  the  old  retainer's  training  made  him 
instinctively  retreat  once  more  to  the  entrance,  where  he 
determined  to  stay  until  the  smashing  of  a  bench  or  two 
brought  him  to  his  post  again. 

Silence  absolute  and  complete  was  his  reward  during 
a  space  of  time  almost  unendurably  long.  Not  a  sound 
came  to  him  save  the  faint  crackle  of  the  heavy  note-paper 
once  or  twice.  Excepting  for  that,  he  might  have  be- 
lieved the  arbor  untenanted;  and  not  daring  to  move, 
he  kept  his  watch  loyally,  though  his  heart  throbbed 
uncomfortably,  and  the  sweat  stood  in  great  beads  on 
his  brow. 

1  Animal.  2  Imbecile, 

249 


SNOW-FIRE 

Serge  meanwhile  was  slowly  reading,  with  blurred  and 
uncomprehending  eyes: 

MY  DEAR  URLANSKY, — Having  received  from  high  quar- 
ters the  order  to  send  you  some  documents,  I  have  done 
so;  and  now,  at  last  in  possession  of  your  address,  I  do  not 
think  I  am  committing  much  of  an  indiscretion  in  explain- 
ing to  you  the  void  you  have  left  behind.  Nobody  until 
now  has  had  an  inkling  of  your  place  of  abode,  and  you 
may,  of  course,  imagine  what  surmises — not  wholly  kind, 
I  may  add — have  been  caused  by  your  extraordinary  dis- 
appearance. Disgrace,  however,  does  not  rhyme  with  the 
name  of  Urlansky,  and  therefore  your  well-known  penchant 
for  feminine  charms  was  at  first  dug  up  like  a  Greek  root, 
to  prove  countless  sins  against  you.  But  now  your  voyage 
in  "foreign  parts"  being  prolonged  to  incredible  lengths,  our 
flights  of  pretty  butterflies  are  deciding  that  there  is  some- 
thing sinister — perhaps  political — in  the  situation,  although 
the  wisest  heads  whisper  of  a  cure  imposed  upon  you  .  .  . 
the  cure  of  a  too-well-rooted  habit.  But  enough  joking. 
Let  me  instead  give  you  a  few  bits  of  news,  which  may  amuse 
you,  for  you  must  be  thirsty  for  Petersburg  gossip.  To  be- 
gin with,  the  Herrschaften1  are  gloomier  than  ever.  Court 
functions  are  rapidly  becoming  mere  processions  of  superbly 
attired  puppets  moving  to  the  strains  of  a  dirge.  Diamonds 
in  showers,  castellated  tiaras  of  flashing  rubies  or  emeralds, 
ropes  of  pearls,  and  trains  four  yards  long,  move  cautiously 
upon  floors  possibly  underpinned  with  bombs  and  other 
diabolical  impedimenta,  cunningly  disposed  to  afford  us  the 
final  surprise.  Fear  is  in  the  air  wherever  a  great  person- 
age appears:  thick,  paralyzing  fear,  that  wipes  away  the 
bravest  of  smiles,  as  with  a  cloth,  and  makes  beautiful  eyes 
assume  a  haunted  look  exceedingly  disagreeable  to  behold. 
In  my  opinion  this  is  all  sheer  nonsense,  and  there  is  no 
more  real  danger  than  in  the  palm  of  my  hand;  but  as  our 
good  old  Colonel  at  the  cavalry  school  used  to  say,  you 
remember:  "Gentlemen,  when  you  are  on  horseback,  don't 
forget  that  there  is  a  powder-mine  somewhere  beneath  you, 

1  Masters,  otherwise  royalties, 
250 


SNOW-FIRE 

and  that  you  are  the  engineers  placed  there  to  prevent 
it  from  going  off!"  Otherwise  "  Un  homme  averti  en  vaut 
deux,"  I  suppose.  The  Tsar  is  sombre,  the  Tsarina  silent 
as  the  grave,  the  little  Grand-Duchesses  examine  their 
balloons  with  wide  apprehensive  eyes  before  they  consent 
to  play  with  them,  and  only  the  "  Hope  of  Russia,"  our  joy- 
ous little  Tsarewitch,  goes  blithely  on  his  way,  hands  in 
pockets,  nose  in  air,  his  sailor-cap  pushed  rakishly  at  the 
back  of  his  curly  head,  evidently  ardently  desirous  of  meet- 
ing some  adventure  of  a  particularly  perilous  sort,  if  pos- 
sible. That  will  be  a  Tsar  to  follow  in  and  out  of  hell  later 
on,  and  every  soldier  in  Petersburg  adores  him  already. 
Grand-Duchess  Sophia  is  also  a  smiling  and  encouraging 
example  of  care-free  happiness,  and  rules  her  new  home  like 
the  perfect  little  wife  she  is.  As  to  Grand-Duchess  Stepan, 
her  ever  young  and  beautiful  goddess  of  a  mother,  she  is  in 
the  Atlas,  rusticating  with — who  do  you  think  for  sole  com- 
panion? I  bet  you  a  thousand  rubles  you  can't  guess — so 
here  goes!  The  little  Virianow!  When  I  say  sole  compan- 
ion I  am  not  entirely  correct;  for  His  Excellency  General 
Count  Neriguine,  Basil-Demetrieff  Kotchinine,  and  finally 
your  best  friend,  the  noble  Marquis  de  Coetmen,  were  sent 
post-haste  after  them  in  order  to  escort  Their  Lovelinesses 
about  Algeria.  Fancy  having  to  defend  Grand-Duchess  Daria 
from  anything!  Why,  she'd  rout  a  regiment  with  those 
haughty  eyes  of  hers  if  she  wanted  to!  But  mind,  comrade, 
this  is  a  secret;  for  the  Three  Musketeers  left  in  so  mys- 
terious, rapid,  and  silent  a  manner  that  perhaps  none  but 
Yours  truly — the  straw-man  par  excellence  of  the  One  it  is 
best  not  to  name — knows  about  this  curious  race  by  special 
train  after  the  two  beauties,  already  sailing  on  Mediter- 
ranean waters.  I  intended  to  write  you  just  what  one 
means  by  a  few  lines,  and  look  at  the  result!  Nevertheless, 
I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of — this  too  being  strictly 
confidential — revealing  to  you  another  choice  piece  of  news. 
It  was  imparted  to  me  by  my  French  valet — a  doubtful 
source,  say  you?  Not  at  all!  The  fellow  is  a  diplomat,  and 
thoroughly  worthy  of  credence.  He  is,  moreover,  the  bosom 
friend  of  Neriguine's  celebrated  Pierre-Felicit6  .  .  .  etc.,  and 
from  him  he  received  lately  a  letter,  in  cipher,  as  he  kindly 

251 


SNOW-FIRE 

informed  me,  stating  that  the  Grand-Duchess  is  coming 
back  almost  immediately,  and  that  this  little  flirt  of  a  Sacha 
will,  on  their  arrival,  be  at  once  united  in  wedlock  to  Alain, 
Breton  Marquis,  and  Knight  of  the  Order  of  Gravity — our 
dear  comrade  and  brother  in  arms.  I  scarcely  can  believe 
in  my  man's  correct  code-reading,  for  Alain  and  fortune- 
hunting  don't  seem  to  go  together.  Perhaps  he  is  in  love 
with  the  "Merry  Widow" — that  would  explain  something, 
but  not  all. 

And  now,  my  good  friend  Sergius,  tear  up  these  pages — 
a  confidential  secretary  should  not  have  written  them,  alas! 
but  affection,  like  love,  is  the  cause  of  most  follies. 
Your  devoted  comrade  and  friend, 

ALEXANDER-PETROVICH  DEBROVINE. 

The  prolonged  silence  within  the  clematis  arbor  threw 
a  cold  crimp  into  Yegor's  back.  "What,"  he  asked  him- 
self, "can  he  be  doing  in  there?  Either  he  has  found 
comfort,  or  else — "  Experience  told  him  that  such  out- 
bursts of  passion  ended  either  in  suddenly  recovered,  even 
boisterous,  gayety,  or  else  in  fits  of  depression  alarming 
to  behold.  "  I  must  not  disturb  him  yet,  whatever  hap- 
pens," Yegor  continued  to  soliloquize;  "it  might  upset 
the  child  again.  But  I  am  not  easy  in  my  mind."  And 
as  a  sort  of  middle  path  between  two  dangers,  he  gently 
scuffled  his  feet  on  the  coarse  sand,  and  even  hazarded  a 
low  little  imploring  cough,  that  would  have  softened  the 
heart  of  a  tiger.  Apparently  it  did  not  soften  Serge's, 
for  no  sound  filtered  through  the  interlaced  tendrils,  all 
feathery  with  big  soft  tufts  of  bloom  that  smelled  deli- 
ciously  of  bitter  almonds. 

Cautiously  Ye*gor  drew  out  his  ponderous  gold  watch, 
a  gift  of  the  reigning  Tsar's  grandfather,  and  holding  the 
massive  chain  firmly  in  his  hand  to  suppress  the  tiniest 
jingle,  anxiously  consulted  its  bland,  prosperous  face. 
Half  an  hour  had  elapsed  since  he  had  taken  up  his  post 

252 


SNOW-FIRE 

at  the  leafy  archway.  This  could  no  longer  be  considered 
a  joke,  even  a  bad  one,  and,  facing  about,  he  conveyed 
his  tall  person,  step  by  silent  step,  to  a  less  thickly  over- 
grown portion  of  the  trellis- work,  where  he  bent  and 
peeped  in.  The  glimpse  he  caught  of  his  master's  ashen 
face  and  staring  eyes  made  him  cast  prudence  and  hesi- 
tation to  the  winds,  and  rush  into  the  arbor,  incoherent 
with  fear. 

"My  boy,  my  boy,  what  is  it  now?  What  has  hap- 
pened to  make  you  look  like  this?"  he  stammered,  with 
tears  in  his  voice  and  eyes.  "Is  it  our  Grand-Duchess 
...  is  she  . . .  Oh !  Lord  of  tortured  souls  ...  is  she  dead  ?" 

But  Serge  merely  continued  to  stare  vaguely  before 
him,  shivering  from  head  to  foot  as  if  pierced  with  cold. 

"  It's  nothing  .  .  .  nothing  .  .  .  nothing  at  all,"  he  mut- 
tered at  last;  "nobody  dead  yet  .  .  .  no!"  He  paused, 
straightened  his  broad  shoulders,  and  said,  in  a  quiet,  ex- 
pressionless tone :  "  Go  and  find  out  when  the  next  home- 
bound  steamer  passes  here  ...  go  at  once!" 

This  time  Yegor  knew  it  was  impossible  even  to  think 
of  disobeying,  and  he  ran  at  once  from  the  arbor,  to  return 
in  five  minutes  with  the  information  that  the  next  steamer, 
rapid  route,  would  stop  there  for  fifteen  minutes  or  so 
two  hours  after  midday. 

"Very  well,"  Serge  replied,  in  a  dry  voice  of  command 
he  had  never  used  to  his  foster-father,  "you  have  just 
time  to  hire  a  fast  horse  and  gallop  back  to  get  the  things 
we  left  behind.  Meanwhile  I'll  see  to  the  baggage  here, 
and  be  ready  for  you.  Be  off  as  soon  as  you  have  swallow- 
ed something  warm." 

Vigor's  eyes  were  pleading  passionately  for  enlight- 
enment. He  stooped,  picked  up  the  papers  once  more 
scattered  upon  the  ground,  and  humbly  handed  them 
to  his  master,  but  still  he  dared  not  speak. 

253 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Not  yet!"  Serge  said  through  clinched  teeth,  in  an- 
swer to  the  unspoken  entreaty.  "Not now,  I  can't!  Go; 
and  pray  that  we  may  arrive  home  in  time — that's  all!" 
He  paused;  then  concluded,  one  hand  on  Yegor's  shoul- 
der: "You  have  worked  long  and  faithfully  for  me,  but 
never  have%I  needed  you  as  I  do  now,  old  Father!" 

With  such  words  to  urge  him  on,  poor  Ydgor  would 
have  gone  through  the  fires  of  Moloch.  He  seized  the 
young  man's  hands  between  both  his  own,  and  pressed 
them  almost  religiously  to  his  lips;  then,  with  a  barely 
indicated  sign  of  the  Cross  above  Serge's  head,  ran  off 
at  the  top  of  his  speed. 

"Will  I  be  in  time?"  Serge  repeated  over  and  over  to 
himself,  pacing  the  narrow  beach  an  hour  later.  "Will 
I  be  in  time?"  His  love  for  Daria,  which  had  lain  drows- 
ing in  a  corner  of  his  heart,  spinning  for  itself  a  cocoon  of 
affection  and  gratitude  during  all  these  months,  was 
quite  dead  now.  Of  course  he  judged  she  had  done  this 
thing.  She  had  suspected  him,  he  knew  well,  but  she 
had  alluded  to  what  she  called  his  "flirtation,"  in  the 
peremptory  manner  she  used  where  his  most  harmless 
delinquencies  were  concerned,  and  he  had  finally  per- 
suaded himself  that  she  was  not  more  alarmed  over  this 
particular  affair  than  over  those  previous  side-steppings. 
How  had  this  she-devil — he  called  her  so  aloud  in  his 
frenzy — how  had  this  she-devil  guessed  the  depth  of  his 
love  for  Sacha?  The  spoiled  child  he  had  always  been 
only  saw  his  dainty  prey  snatched  away  at  the  last 
moment.  Sacha — the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  him 
— given  to  another,  and  what  other  ?  His  most  intimate 
friend,  whom  he  knew  for  a  better  man  than  himself  in 
every  possible  way.  She,  Daria,  .  .  .  the  woman  to  whom 
he  had  granted  a  few  short  years  of  his  exuberant  youth, 
.  .  .  had  done  this!  He  paused  on  the  edge  of  the  sea, 

254 


SNOW-FIRE 

that  was  gradually  turning  to  greenish  -  gray  beneath 
clouds  drifting  from  the  mountain  summits,  and  glared 
at  the  roughened  waters. 

"All  the  same,  I  will  have  her!"  he  shouted,  suddenly, 
to  the  terror  of  a  long-legged  blue  crane  wading  knee- 
deep  in  a  salt  pool  on  the  other  side  of  the  sand-spit, 
"even  if  I  have  to  tear  her  from  him!" 

"  God  grant,"  he  continued,  as  the  ungainly  bird  flapped 
wildly  away,  "that  I  arrive  before  she  is  his!  I  know  I 
can  get  her  away  from  him.  I  know  I  can!" 

He  felt  himself  sway  a  little  on  his  feet,  and  the  thought 
that  fatigue  and  hunger  might  interfere  with  his  plans 
caused  him  to  turn  back  and  seek  the  inn,  where  his 
breakfast  had  been  waiting  so  long.  The  very  sight  of 
food,  however,  nauseated  him,  and  he  called  for  a  bottle 
of  vodki  and  a  glass.  Two  deep  draughts  of  the  vile  stuff 
seared  his  empty  stomach,  but  nevertheless  permitted 
of  his  swallowing  a  little  solid  nourishment,  and  after 
gulping  down  another  brimmer,  he  went  up  to  his  rooms 
to  see  about  the  luggage. 

He  moved  about  as  if  in  an  evil  dream;  not  that  the 
peppery  liquor  had  had  any  action  upon  him,  for  his 
head  was  reputed  the  strongest  in  his  regiment — a  rather 
hard-drinking  one — but  because  his  nerves  were  strung 
above  the  reach  of  any  kind  of  stimulant;  and  his  brief 
preparations  completed,  he  took  up  a  despondent  position 
across  the  balcony-rail  overlooking  the  mud  flats  that 
were  slowly  being  swamped  by  the  tide. 

All  at  once  he  started  up  again.  Why  had  Sacha 
yielded  so  soon  and  so  willingly  ?  The  thought  struck  him 
for  the  first  time.  Had  he  not  received  her  promise  to 
wait  for  him,  on  the  night  of  the  masquerade  at  the 
Palais-Stepan  ?  What  of  those  tears  he  had  divined  be- 
neath the  thick  lace  folded  across  her  sweet  face  ?  What 

255 


SNOW-FIRE 

of  their  farewell,  too,  beneath  the  down-dropping  cur- 
tains of  the  window  embrasure?  What  of  his  white 
roses  coming  every  morning  to  remind  her  of  him?  Ah! 
it  was  lucky  for  Yegor  that  he  was  not  there  to  be  ques- 
tioned on  that  last  particular  point. 

Once  more  he  began  to  pace  to  and  fro.  She  had 
loved  him;  he  knew  it  without  the  possibility  of  doubt. 
What  pressure  could  these  two  fiends,  her  mother  and 
that  domineering  woman  Daria,  have  put  upon  her  to 
make  her  give  in  so  promptly?  This  was  his  reward  for 
having  been  a  loyal  gentleman,  for  having  awaited  his 
return  before  declaring  himself  fully,  and  sending  Daria 
packing!  A  gentleman?  For  an  instant  he  paused,  as 
if  stung  by  some  painful  recollection.  A  gentleman? 
Ah,  God!  what  did  it  matter  whether  he  had  acted  the 
part  of  one  or  had  forgotten  the  very  meaning  of  the  word  ? 

He  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  seeing  how  long  this 
mingled  drama  of  cursing,  vituperating,  and  preparing  for 
departure  had  taken,  began  to  rush  about;  filled  his  rub- 
ber tub  from  the  row  of  water-pails  in  readiness,  bathed 
rapidly  with  reckless  splashings,  got  into  ordinary  citi- 
zen's clothes,  and  a  little  before  the  moment  at  which 
he  expected  Yegor  back,  was  standing  before  the  inn 
door  spick  and  span  as  if  just  emerging  from  a  bandbox. 
His  face  still  bore  deep  marks  of  the  hurricane  he  had 
gone  through,  but  at  twenty-five  such  signs  do  not  last, 
even  if  the  tempest  still  rages  beneath  an  enforcedly  calm 
exterior;  and  he  had  recaptured  the  conventional  self- 
control  of  the  well-bred.  He  hoped  not  to  lose  it  again 
in  so  degrading  a  fashion;  and  when  at  last  Yegor  rode 
down  the  hill  at  a  breakneck  pace,  dragging  after  him 
a  well-loaded  pack-horse,  Serge  had  a  smile  of  affection- 
ate approval  for  him,  that  meant  more  than  a  great  deal 
to  the  weary  but  still  alert  and  strong  old  man, 

256 


SNOW-FIRE 

He  had  too  much  tact,  however,  to  comment  on  his 
master's  altered  mien,  and  instantly  bustled  about,  set- 
tled the  final  details,  changed  his  dust-covered  garments, 
ate  a  mouthful  or  two,  and  reappeared,  looking  about 
the  smartest  old  family  retainer  in  existence.  Nor  had 
he  hurried  in  vain,  for  when  but  a  few  minutes  later  the 
little  steamer — which  seemed  to  bring  in  her  wake  the  pen- 
etrating odor  of  the  petroleum  that  glazes  like  a  scarce- 
perceptible  film  the  waters  of  Batoum — churned  and 
surged  alongside  the  apology  for  a  jetty,  all  was  in  readi- 
ness, and  Serge,  though  still  murmuring  within  himself, 
"Shall  I  be  in  time?  .  .  .  Shall  I  be  in  time?"  with  the 
dreary  monotony  of  a  trip-hammer  rising  and  falling, 
rising  and  falling  in  his  heart  and  brain,  preceded  the 
luggage  up  the  gang-plank  with  almost  his  usual  non- 
chalance and  calm. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

On  what  I  hold  I  will  not  loose  my  grasp; 
Finger  by  finger  Fate  must  break  the  clasp. 

M.  M. 

CLUSTER  over  cluster,  tier  over  tier,  the  starry  little 
lights  rose  from  thickly  banked  white  blossoms  in  the 
Imperial  Chapel,  where  the  elect  of  St.  Petersburg's  Court 
circle  had  assembled  to  witness  the  marriage  of 
Kniaghenia1  Virianow  to  Alain,  Marquis  de  Coetmen. 
Throughout  the  splendid  building  a  faint  rustle  of  silks 
and  satins,  impatiently  crumpled  by  small  exquisitely 
gloved  hands,  could  be  heard  in  the  silence  preceding  the 
arrival  of  the  bridal  cortege,  and  it  was  only  when  the 
line  of  guardsmen  was  complete,  on  each  side  of  the  broad 
pathway  of  purple  edged  with  gold  leading  from  the 
great  entrance  to  the  pulpit  prepared  for  the  reading  of 
the  gospels,  that  with  a  long  sigh  of  relief  the  crowded 
assembly  settled  to  something  like  quiet.  The  officers 
of  the  Grodno  Hussars  took  their  places  at  the  upper  end 
of  this  Via  Triumphalis,  and  drawing  their  swords,  raised 
them  above  their  heads  in  a  gleaming  imitation  of  the 
Voute  d'Acier;  then  the  first  notes  of  the  nuptial  chant, 
The  Spouse  Cometh  Full  of  Glory,  rendered  by  the  deep 
voices  of  the  priests,  began  to  resound  gloriously  beneath 
the  gilded  vault,  and  with  one  blast  of  silver  trumpets  the 
Emperor,  leading  Sacha,  and  the  Empress  with  Alain, 

1  Princess  by  marriage. 
258 


SNOW-FIRE 

passed  beneath  the  arch  of  white  roses  encircling  the  wide 
portal,  heading  the  Grand-Dukes  and  Grand-Duchesses, 
the  high  officials  of  the  Court,  and  the  Diplomatic  Corps. 

All  the  ceremonial  had  been  arranged  according  to  the 
gorgeous  traditions  of  one  of  the  last  remaining  exclusive 
Courts  of  the  world,  from  the  hedge  of  blossoming  plants 
that  rose  in  perfect  gradations  around  the  sacred  penetralia 
— where  none  but  the  priesthood  and  the  Tsar  can  enter — 
down  to  the  white  petals  showered  like  snow  upon  the 
purple  bridal  path.  Such  honors  as  these  were  seldom 
accorded  to  non-royal  personages,  but  the  Tsar,  touched 
by  the  modest  youthfulness  of  his  aunt's  little  protegee, 
had  consented  to  act  a  father's  part,  and  had  prevailed 
upon  the  Tsarina  to  represent  Alain's  mother  (whom  she 
had  known  and  deeply  admired),  while  Grand-Duchess 
Daria  herself  volunteered  as  Mere  d'Honneur  to  the  boy 
she  had  lately  learned  to  love  almost  as  one  of  her  own 
sons. 

Slow  and  impressive,  the  procession  advanced,  and  it 
was  remarked  that  Sacha  walked  with  eyes  bent  upon  the 
ground,  as  though  her  sparkling  kakoshnik  were  too  heavy 
for  her  small  head,  already  overweighted  with  its  wealth 
of  pale  torsades.  A  long  veil  of  lace  covered  her  from 
head  to  foot,  rippling  down  to  the  very  edge  of  her  four- 
yard  Court  train,  and  through  its  delicate  magnificence 
her  scarce  rose-colored  brocade  gown  showed  like  a  drift 
of  apple-blossoms  at  dawn  beneath  the  lingering  gauzes  of 
night.  Instead  of  the  orange  and  myrtle  consecrated  to 
maidens,  she  held  a  cascade  bouquet  matching  in  tints  of 
hardly  perceptible  rose-lilac  the  rare  orchids  clustered 
about  her  robes  and  train,  while  around  her  throat  and 
breast  fell  strand  over  strand  of  matchless  pearls,  the  gift 
that  very  morning  of  Grand -Duke  and  Grand-Duchess 
Stepan. 

18  259 


SNOW-FIRE 

When  she  reached  the  pulpit  a  wave  of  color  rose  to 
her  face,  and  Countess  Dermetchieff,  standing  close  by, 
thought,  as  she  watched  the  Empress  release  Alain  and 
gently  motion  him  toward  his  bride,  "  She  does  love  him 
— how  could  she  do  otherwise  ?  He  is  handsome  enough 
to  turn  every  feminine  head  in  Petersburg."  This  was 
scarcely  an  exaggeration,  for  the  young  officer  in  his  rich 
dark-green  and  crimson  was  indeed  a  sight  to  fill  the  eye 
as,  bowing  low,  he  stepped  to  the  Tsar's  side  to  receive 
from  him  the  trembling  little  white-gloved  hand. 

At  once  the  marriage  ritual  began.  Clouds  of  incense 
floated  upward,  quivering  and  curling  to  the  volume  of 
splendid  sound  bursting  from  the  breasts  of  the  choir,  and 
in  another  moment  the  golden  robed  and  mitred  officiant 
advanced  and  began  to  speak.  He  was  a  far-famed  orator, 
was  this  great  dignitary  of  the  Greek  Church,  and  his 
words  flowed  clear  and  sonorous  beyond  the  farthest  pillars 
of  the  dome.  The  joys  of  the  truly  united  in  heart  and 
soul  were  easily  and  charmingly  touched  upon,  and  the 
bliss  that  awaited  a  pair  so  greatly  honored  as  to  begin 
their  wedded  life  under  the  auspices  of  Their  Gracious 
Majesties,  the  pride  and  glory  of  Russia — here  of  course 
he  paused  long  enough  to  bow  to  the  Tsar,  impassive  in 
his  quiet  uniform,  and  to  the  Tsarina,  imperial  in  sweep- 
ing robes  lit  by  the  rainbow  fires  of  her  jewels.  Then, 
lowering  his  magnetic  voice  two  tones  at  least,  he  spoke 
of  duty  and  faithfulness,  of  the  blessing  and  burden  of 
children  to  come,  of  Heaven's  unknown  decrees  and  of 
perfect  and  humble  submission  to  them,  and  thus  im- 
perceptibly glided  into  a  peroration  of  such  impressive 
beauty  that  all  his  hearers  were  tempted  to  applaud. 

The  wonderful  choir  of  manly  voices  then  rolled  aloft 
again  in  the  Hallelujah,  and  as  soon  as  this  too  had  thun- 
dered to  a  close  the  officiant  once  more  came  forward, 

260 


SNOW-FIRE 

and  in  accents  that  rang  along  the  aisles  asked  of  Alain 
the  irrevocable  word: 

"Wilt  thou  take  this  woman  as  thy  wife?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Alain,  and  there  was  such  bound- 
less adoration  in  the  eyes  he  turned  upon  her  that  two 
tears  rolled  down  the  Empress's  white  cheeks,  and  even 
Countess  Nazoumoff — now  securely  provided  with  a  life 
income  of  no  inconsiderable  size,  and  flattered  moreover 
beyond  measure  by  the  honors  showered  upon  her  and 
her  daughter — 'permitted  herself  a  couple  of  effective  little 
sobs,  indifferently  smothered  in  a  scrap  of  valuable  lace 
that  evidently  had  never  been  meant  for  such  a  purpose. 

"Wilt  thou  take  this  man  for  thy  husband?"  the 
ringing  voice  demanded,  and  Sacha,  colorless  as  her  veil, 
her  head  still  bowed,  murmured  a  faltering  "Yes,"  which 
made  the  Countesses  Dermetchieff  and  Nazoumoff  raise 
their  eyebrows  in  astonishment.  "  Doesn't  she  love  him, 
after  all?"  the  former  mentally  commented.  "That 
'yes'  did  not  come  from  the  heart,"  and  her  beautiful 
old  face  clouded,  as  she  repeatedly  crossed  herself  above 
her  marvellous  stomacher  of  sapphires  and  diamonds. 

It  was  too  hot  in  the  chapel  now,  and  the  intoxicating 
fragrance  of  the  crowded  white  blossoms  made  most 
heads  a  little  dizzy,  but  when  the  bridesmaids  advanced 
to  throw  Sacha's  veil  back  from  her  face  every  eye  was 
intent  to  see  her  partake  of  the  consecrated  wine,  and 
none  could  refuse  admiration  and  praise  to  the  lovely 
features  and  deep  soft  eyes  that  at  last  were  plainly  seen, 
framed  by  billows  of  lace.  Three  times  she  took  the 
golden  chalice  from  the  bridegroom's  hand,  and,  in  token 
of  intimate  and  symbolical  union,  drank  the  prescribed 
mouthful  after  him,  but  all  at  once  the  precious  vessel 
slipped  from  her  nervously  unsteady  fingers  and  fell  at 
her  feet,  staining  the  hem  of  her  dress  as  if  with  blood, 

361 


SNOW-FIRE 

A  shudder  of  superstitious  fear  shook  the  entire  assem- 
blage, but  Alain  had  already  bent,  recovered  the  chalice, 
and  was  holding  it  out  to  the  horrified  priest,  while  a  couple 
of  assistant  popes  hastily  knelt  to  sponge  up  every  drop 
of  the  sacred  wine  with  consecrated  cloths,  which  would 
afterward  be  burned  to  the  last  thread  in  the  pure  flames 
of  cedar-wood. 

Sacha  herself  had  remained  absolutely  still,  so  pale  that 
both  the  Tsarina  and  Grand-Duchess  Daria  drew  close  to 
her,  fearing  she  would  faint,  but  to  their  wonderment  the 
impressionable  airy-fairy  of  their  knowledge  drew  herself 
up  proudly,  and  refusing  all  support,  signalled  her  readiness 
to  proceed  with  the  ceremony.  The  only  sign  of  agitation 
she  showed  was  to  tear  her  glove  during  the  exchange  of 
rings,  but  down  to  the  last  rite  of  the  endless  liturgy  she 
never  once  betrayed  the  rapid  fraying  of  her  nerves. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  two  Gentilhommes  d'Hon- 
neur  to  come  forward,  both  bearing  golden  crowns  which 
they  held  above  the  heads  of  bride  and  bridegroom.  They 
were  immensely  tall  men,  and  towered  like  two  Homeric 
statues  behind  Alain  and  Sacha,  as  the  officiant,  holding 
the  newly  married  couple's  left  hands  within  a  fold  of  his 
stole,  guided  them,  still  followed  by  the  crown-bearers, 
three  times  around  the  pulpit,  the  choir  meanwhile  thun- 
dering harmonious  petitions  to  the  Almighty  for  the  young 
pair's  future  happiness  and  prosperity. 

The  Empress,  thanks  to  her  rather  mystical  nature, 
had,  since  the  accident  of  the  golden  cup,  seemed  ready 
to  drop  with  emotion  and  fatigue,  and  the  Emperor's 
eyes  were  anxiously  fixed  upon  her  when  the  three  circuits 
were  accomplished,  and  the  priest,  releasing  the  two 
hands  he  held,  commanded  in  clarion  tones,  "Embrace 
each  other!" — certainly  the  most  embarrassing  moment  of 
a  Russian  wedding,  even  for  the  most  deeply  enamoured 

262 


SNOW-FIRE 

couple.  But  even  this  these  two  models  of  quiet  poise 
accomplished  faultlessly;  Alain  inclining  his  tall  figure, 
and  bending  toward  his  wife  with  a  devotion  and  tender 
protecting  love  that  he  alone  ever  realized  in  that  swift 
touching  of  the  lips ;  for  she  was  past  the  realizing  of  any- 
thing, and  when  the  Emperor  and  Empress  saluted  her 
it  made  upon  her  no  greater  or  less  impression.  She 
went  with  an  equally  frozen  calmness  through  the  felicita- 
tions of  all  the  guests,  although  when  Daria  embraced 
her,  she  for  a  second  clung  almost  desperately  to  her, 
and  finally  passed  slowly  out  at  her  husband's  side  to 
the  exasperating  strains  of  the  wedding  march,  without 
giving  the  slightest  sign  of  emotion.  Just  as  admirably 
did  she  behave  during  the  State  banquet  at  the  Winter 
Palace,  and  it  was  only  when  she  descended  from  Daria's 
brougham  at  the  station,  where  the  Grand-ducal  private 
car  awaited  her,  that  she  felt  her  resolve  give  way. 

In  the  car,  decked  with  knots  of  snowy  ribbon  and  filled 
with  white  lilac,  she  threw  herself  into  the  Grand-Duchess's 
arms,  sobbing  uncontrollably,  and  incoherently  imploring 
her  to  come  too — not  to  leave  her  alone !  But  Daria  knew 
by  experience  how  to  deal  with  such  explosions  of  despair, 
and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  succeeded  in  handing  her  over 
to  Alain,  smiling  a  little  amid  her  tears,  which  made  her 
look  like  a  May  rose  after  a  shower.  Then  kissing  them 
both  tenderly,  she  rejoined  her  carriage,  which  presently, 
strangely  enough,  was  almost  upset  by  a  droshky  tearing 
at  forbidden  speed  in  an  opposite  direction.  Curiously 
she  glanced  through  the  tiny  glass  at  the  back  of  the 
brougham,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  broad  pair  of 
shoulders  in  the  careering  vehicle,  and  indications  of  an- 
other pair  beside  these,  both  terminated  by  collars  raised 
as  high  as  possible  toward  flat  travelling  caps,  while  the 
coachman,  with  arms  extended  beyond  any  known  rule, 

263 


SNOW-FIRE 

even  of  St.  Petersburg,  bent  over  his  horse,  wildly  en- 
couraging him  with  whip  and  voice. 

"En  voila  qui  sont  presses,"  she  soliloquized  in  the 
favorite  language  of  all  true  Russians,  and  pulled  the 
silken  cord  attached  to  her  own  coachman's  arm.  The 
horses  were  instantly  drawn  to  a  stand,  and  the  footman, 
jumping  from  his  high  perch,  stood  at  the  window. 
"Were  those  two  lunatics  of  the  police?"  she  asked,  only 
half-lowering  the  glass. 

"No!  Your  Imperial  Highness!"  the  always  perfectly 
informed  man  replied,  his  sleek  head  uncovered  to  the 
icy  air. 

"  Who,  then  ?"  she  impatiently  questioned.  "  But  first, 
never  mind  etiquette  for  once,  and  put  on  your  hat!" 
The  servant  bowed,  mechanically  pulled  up  his  tall  fur 
collar,  but  remained  uncovered. 

"Their  faces  could  not  be  seen,  Imperial  Highness. 
They  took  good  care  of  that." 

"  Put  on  your  hat  instantly — before  you  return  to  the 
box,  where  it  must  be  still  colder !"  And  she  smiled  at  the 
grateful  eyes  and  subsequent  evolutions  of  the  footman; 
for,  though  he  did  not  relax  the  stiff  conventions  of  his 
position  beside  the  coachman,  it  was  plain  to  her  that  he 
was  delightedly  repeating  her  words. 

For  a  few  moments  her  thoughts  roamed  around  the 
incident — two  men  racing  along  crowded  streets,  with 
hidden  faces,  and  some  devil  of  an  izvoshtchik  who  had 
been  so  well  paid  that  he  was  willing  to  run  any  risk  for 
himself  and  others.  Then  they  harked  back  to  the  riddle 
of  Alain  and  Sacha,  and  their  future  life,  little  guessing, 
God  knows,  that  just  now  Serge  Urlansky — her  Serge — 
and  that  fine  and  devoted  fellow  Ye"gor,  had  by  a  mere 
hair's  breadth  escaped  killing  themselves  and  her  in  their 
headlong  flight  to  the  station. 

264 


SNOW-FIRE 

Those  breathless  travellers  speedily  arrived  there,  and 
raced  each  other  to  the  private  office  of  the  station-master, 
only  to  find  that  the  express  bearing  away  the  Marquis  and 
Marquise  de  Coetmen  had  been  gone  half-an-hour,  and 
that  the  red-tape  and  circumstance  which  surrounds  the 
granting  of  a  "special"  would  cause  an  insupportable 
amount  of  delay.  Naturally  Serge  was  unwilling  to  let 
his  name  appear  in  the  negotiations,  as  he  wished  to  avoid 
scandal  as  much  as  possible.  His  head  was  so  muddled 
by  the  news  of  the  marriage  which  had  greeted  him  upon 
his  arrival  in  town  a  scant  hour  before,  that  he  stood 
there  staring  and  irresolute,  hardly  able  in  his  rage  and 
mortification  to  extract  a  single  clear  idea  from  his  brain. 

"My  dear  master!"  implored  poor  Ye"gor,  drawing  him 
to  one  side,  "Let  be  now;  you  have  done  all  that  mortal 
man  could  do.  You  can't  tear  her  from  her  husband's 
arms — it  is  too  late!" 

"Ah,  God!"  he  murmured,  seeing  how  little  impression 
his  words  created.  "  Always  the  same  when  one  refuses 
him  something  he  wants — it's  only  then  he  really  must 
have  it!" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Yegor.  If  I  hadn't  believed  you, 
this  wouldn't  have  happened.  Get  that  train  in  your 
own  name.  You  have  your  passport  and  plenty  of 
money  still,  haven't  you?" 

Serge's  expression  was  such  that  Ydgor  desisted  from 
this  last  of  many  attempts  to  dissuade  him  from  his  mad 
project,  and  drew  out  a  well-filled  pocket-book.  Yes, 
money  there  was  in  plenty;  he  showed  it  to  his  master; 
and  the  passports  were  both  all  right.  To  be  sure,  they 
had  been  made  out  for  vastly  different  parts  of  the  uni- 
verse than  Paris;  but  once  out  of  Petersburg,  Count 
Urlansky's  personality  would  work  all  sorts  of  wonders, 
"if  only,"  Y^gor  sagely  added,  "His  Nobility  would  con- 

265 


SNOW-FIRE 

sent  to  go  into  the  station  toilet-room  and  make  himself 
look  like  a  highborn  personage,  instead  of  a  scarcely  rep- 
utable fugitive!"  This  hint,  at  least,  Serge  accepted, 
more  with  a  view  to  a  speedy  meeting  with  Sacha,  than 
from  a  desire  to  impress  the  railway  and  frontier  au- 
thorities; so  snatching  up  a  valise,  he  left  his  invaluable 
servant  to  arrange  about  the  train.  Nevertheless,  his 
priceless  furs  and  general  effect  of  aristocratic  affluence 
achieved  the  unthought-of  end  when  he  emerged  from  the 
conveniently  large  dressing-room,  and  the  bowing  station- 
master  immediately  undertook  to  make  an  end  of  all 
difficulties.  An  engine,  a  baggage-van,  a  sleeping  and  a 
dining-car — since  for  such  a  rapid  flight  the  train  must  be 
heavy  enough  to  stay  upon  the  rails — were  ready  within 
a  reasonable  space  of  time,  although  inwardly  the  fuming 
Serge  cursed  everybody  uninterruptedly  for  inconceivable 
slowness. 

"  Is  there  any  chance,  d'you  think,  of  our  catching  up 
with  the  express  this  side  of  the  frontier?"  he  asked  the 
gilt-edged,  green-uniformed  "  Chief,"  as  they  stood  to- 
gether, watching  the  hasty  entraining  of  the  scanty 
luggage. 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Your  Nobility!"  the  latter  reluctantly 
admitted.  "  This  express  is  the  very  fastest  we  have — and 
it  is  a  flyer!"  he  proudly  concluded. 

"Where,  then?"  Serge  demanded,  nearly  pulling  one 
side  of  his  mustache  out  by  the  roots. 

"  Probably  not  this  side  of  the  Rhine — though  there  are 
changes  to  be  made  which  may  give  Your  Nobility  a 
chance,  since  your  "Special"  has  practically  got  a  free 
route,  and  need  stop  only  when  absolutely  necessary. 
Still  it  is  a  game  at  best,  to  be  played  between  your  train 
and  the  other — a  sort  of  flat  race,  which  has  its  fascina- 
tions." 

266 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Your  wit  and  breadth  of  humor  do  you  the  greatest 
credit,"  Serge  ironically  remarked,  ascending  the  steps 
of  his  car,  and  the  pompous  official  took  the  compliment 
so  seriously  that  he  continued  bowing  his  grateful  ap- 
preciation until  the  pursuing  locomotive  had  whistled 
itself  shrilly  out  of  the  great  terminus. 

Meanwhile  the  white-ribboned  and  lilac-garlanded 
private  car  attached  to  the  express  was  swallowing  verst 
upon  verst,  with  an  appetite  boding  well  for  its  digestive 
powers.  The  night  outside  seemed  made  of  black  velvet, 
but  within  the  nuptial  coach  light  and  fragrance  and 
quiet  costliness  surrounded  the  small  supper  table,  set 
for  two  on  a  cloth  concealed  almost  entirely  by  a  mass  of 
white  violets  and  white  heather — Brittany  and  Russia  in- 
termingled, Daria  had  thought,  as  she  ordered  this  fitting 
decoration.  On  another  table  two  great  vases,  one  con- 
taining white  roses  of  extraordinary  beauty,  the  other 
the  bride's  bouquet,  as  fresh  almost  as  it  had  been  in  the 
morning,  faced  a  long  alabaster  jardiniere  filled  to  ex- 
travagance with  tall  lilies  of  every  form,  faintly  pink  ones 
predominating,  to  give  to  the  ensemble  a  touch  of  the 
traditional  color  of  the  honeymoon. 

On  a  broad  divan  sat  Sacha,  still  wearing  her  "going- 
away"  gown  of  pearl-gray  cloth,  embroidered  all  over  in  a 
close  pattern  of  white  daisies,  and  beside  her  lay  the  hat 
and  long  chinchilla  coat,  with  their  knots  of  white  and 
pink  Reine-Marguerites  nestling  prettily  against  the  light 
fur.  Her  hair,  coiled  high  to-day,  was  half-clasped  by  a 
wonderful  antique  jewelled  comb  shaped  like  a  Marquise's 
coronet — one  of  Alain's  presents.  This,  together  with  a 
few  other  heirlooms  which  the  late  Lady  of  Coetmen  had 
seldom  worn  (laughingly  explaining  that  her  toilettes 
were  too  simple  to  serve  as  a  background  for  such  lovely 
things),  the  young  man  had  offered  with  a  "They  were 

267 


SNOW-FIRE 

my  mother's,  Sacha,"  that  quadrupled  their  value.  The 
great  emerald  of  her  engagement  ring  was  the  bright 
star  of  the  tiny  hoard,  and  just  then  the  spoiled  little 
beauty,  who  had  coffers  full  of  gems,  was  gazing  with 
troubled  eyes  into  its  lucent  depths.  It  was  the  King's 
gift  to  a  De  Coetmen  of  the  long  ago,  as  flawless  and  rare 
as  the  women  of  that  House  who  had  worn  it  for  cen- 
turies—  the  symbol  of  their  troth  and  of  Armbr1  —  but 
Sacha  somehow  felt  herself  unworthy  to  do  so. 

Alain — the  happiest  man  in  Christendom — was  moving 
around  the  supper  table,  rearranging  a  flower  here,  a  plate 
there,  placing  a  cushion  before  his  darling's  chair,  so  that 
her  pretty  little  feet  might  rest  comfortably.  Then 
moving  softly  toward  her  when  all  was  prepared,  he  knelt 
on  one  knee,  and  looking  up  said  with  a  smile  she  never 
forgot:  "Madame  la  Marquise  est  servie."  She  had  not 
heard  him  come;  and  when  her  startled,  remorseful  glance 
met  his  worshipping  eyes,  she  threw  both  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  hid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  with  a  little  sob  of 
distress. 

"Overwrought — poor  little  woman!"  he  murmured, 
drawing  her  tenderly  to  him.  "Now  let  us  see  what  a 
glass  of  wine  and  some  reasonable  food  will  do  for  you. 
At  luncheon  you  did  not  touch  a  morsel  of  anything." 

The  protecting,  admonishing  tone  changed  the  sob 
into  a  nervous  childish  laugh,  and  in  the  spirit  of  the 
moment  she  suffered  herself  to  be  lifted  and  carried  to 
her  chair  like  a  baby. 

"  We  must  be  extremely  decorous  now,"  he  smiled,  "  for 
Rosalie  and  my  orderly — disguised  as  the  valet  de  cham- 
bre  I  never  had — are  going  to  bear  in  the  feast!"  He  did 
not  bend  over  to  kiss  her — since  she  was  his  now — and 

1  Armorica — Brittany. 
?68 


SNOW-FIRE 

his  rights  must  count  for  nothing  until  she  herself  showed 
an  inclination  to  confer  them  upon  him.  But  as  he 
turned  away  to  summon  the  servants,  he  touched  with  his 
lips  the  lace  falling  from  the  edge  of  her  sleeve,  as  a  serf 
would  have  done. 

The  supper,  planned  and  ordered  by  Grand-Duchess 
Daria,  was,  it  goes  without  saying,  a  culinary  poem,  almost 
too  daintily  original  to  be  broken  into,  and  was  served 
really  admirably — one  might  almost  add  with  a  genius  of 
tact — by  Rosalie  and  the  lathv  hussar,  transformed  for 
the  nonce  into  a  civilian  by  his  Colonel's  orders. 

When  the  tiny  little  cups  of  Turkish  coffee  had  been 
swallowed,  and  the  cigarettes  lighted,  Alain  caught 
Rosalie's  bright  eye,  and  the  pretty  soubrette,  leaving  the 
task  of  clearing  away  to  her  fellow-servitor,  swept  off  all 
the  violets  and  heather  into  the  next  compartment,  where 
she  spent  considerable  care,  taste,  and  time  in  arranging 
them  on  the  white  satin  counterpane  of  the  bed;  re- 
serving a  great  cluster  to  tie  to  each  lace-flounced  pillow. 
"Voila!"  she  remarked  to  herself,  patting  the  flowers 
into  place  here  and  there  with  a  final  touch  of  her  slim 
fingers,  "  Voila  un  lit  joliment  bien  preparS,  par  exemple," 
and  fled  to  the  farthest  compartment  of  all,  there  to  await 
her  mistress's  summons,  taking  to  while  away  the  time  a 
book  that  in  her  pleasantly  nervous  frame  of  mind  she 
never  opened  once. 

Beyond  the  portiere  separating  the  salon  from  the 
chamber  she  had  just  quitted,  Alain  and  Sacha  lingeied 
over  another  cigarette.  She  was  silent  absolutely  now, 
and  he  noticed  that  several  times  her  lips  quivered. 

"Aren't  you  tired,  Sacha,  after  all  the  emotions  of 
to-day?"  he  asked,  gently,  taking  her  unoccupied  hand  in 
his,  and  kissing  it  lightly  at  short  intervals. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  very  low, "  but — I — don't  feel — sleepy!" 

269 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  widening  and  darkening  of  her  eyes,  the  sudden 
trembling  of  the  small  fingers  he  held,  were  not  unnoticed 
by  Alain,  and  for  a  second  he  bit  his  mustache;  then, 
smiling  again,  he  drew  closer  to  his  wife,  and  with  one 
finger  raised  her  pale  face,  and  gazed  affectionately  at  her. 
"  Very  well,  then,  what  prevents  you  from  lying  down  and 
dreaming  yourself  to  sleep,  as  little  tired  children  do?" 

A  flash,  quite  unmistakably  expressive  of  an  unex- 
pected hope,  shot  from  under  her  drooping  lashes,  and 
Alain  felt  his  heart  painfully  contract.  Aloud,  he  said 
simply,  after  an  infinitesimal  pause:  "Well  then,  let  me 
take  you  to  your  room,  my  dearest,  and  hand  you  over  to 
Rosalie.  She  may  as  well  sleep  on  the  lounge  at  your 
feet,  and  be  near  you  if  you  need  her.  Come,  let's  be 
reasonable,  you  and  I,  like  a  very  old  married  couple!" 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  pale  to  the  lips,  and  stood 
before  him,  an  image  of  surprise,  embarrassment,  and 
relief  impossible  to  describe. 

"But — you — you?"  she  stammered,  flushing  suddenly 
to  the  hue  of  an  Armosa  rose. 

"I,"  he  said,  quietly,  "am  an  old  campaigner,  who'll 
find  himself  in  clover  on  one  of  these  admirably  up- 
holstered divans  here.  Don't  you  worry  about  me!" 
He  picked  up  her  furs  and  hat  from  the  sofa,  where  in  her 
agitation  Rosalie  had  forgotten  them,  and  taking  in  his 
her  small  ice-cold  hand,  drew  her  toward  the  silken  door- 
hangings. 

A  tumult  of  mixed  emotions  made  her  hardly  able  to 
walk,  and  she  leaned  against  him,  letting  him  almost  carry 
her  (for  seeing  how  she  swayed,  he  threw  his  arm  about 
her  protectingly,  but  without  a  hint  of  a  caress),  and 
paused  only  at  the  foot  of  the  fragrant  couch,  with  its 
two  coquettish  pillow-bouquets  fastened  by  satin  favors. 
There  was  not  very  much  light  in  the  little  "  room  of 

270 


SNOW-FIRE 

state" — a  pink  veiled  lamp  hanging  from  the  ceiling, 
and  two  or  three  others  that  had  also  been  swathed  in 
rose-hued  taffetas,  along  the  walls — but  the  sight  was  too 
much,  even  for  Sacha's  monumental  selfishness,  and  she 
hid  her  face  on  Alain's  breast,  holding  almost  convulsively 
to  his  arm.  "Oh,  Alain — dear,  dear,  Alain,"  she  mur- 
mured. "Can't  we  both  sit  up  together  in  the  salon, 
since  you  are  so — so  kind?" 

The  young  officer  drew  himself  up  involuntarily;  he  felt 
that  he  could  endure  but  very  little  more  of  this. 

"No,  my  child" — his  accent  actually  achieved  the 
paternal — "  you  must  rest — that's  the  first  thing  to  think 
of.  We  have  life  before  us  to  understand  each  other 
better,  and  be  it  long  or  short,  rest  assured  that  I  will  not 
cause  you  a  single  minute's  annoyance!"  He  kissed  her 
once — just  once — on  the  forehead,  and  then,  in  an  im- 
perious way  she  had  never  suspected  in  him,  called  out: 
"  Rosalie,  come  here,  your  mistress  is  not  well!" 

Poor  Rosalie  literally  flew  into  the  exquisite  little  bower, 
her  keen  face  one  interrogation  point.  "  Put  Madame  la 
Marquise  to  bed,"  Alain  said,  curtly.  "Then  bring  your 
own  pillows  and  blankets  in  here,  and  make  yourself  as  com- 
fortable as  you  can  on  the  lounge.  Madame  is  tired  out." 

Sacha,  seated  on  the  foot  of  the  lounge,  said  nothing, 
and  Rosalie,  utterly  bewildered,  began  to  rush  around, 
hardly  able  to  comprehend  this  extraordinary  state  of 
affairs.  Meanwhile  Alain  had  dexterously  appropriated 
the  two  clusters  of  heather  from  the  pillows,  and  hidden 
them  in  his  pocket.  "Sleep  well,  little  woman!"  he  said 
at  last,  kissing  both  her  hands,  one  after  the  other,  and 
passed  into  the  salon,  where  his  orderly  was  setting 
everything  to  rights  with  military  precision.  "  Bring  me 
my  fur  coat  and  cap,  Gretzki,  and  half  a  dozen  cigars. 
Then  I  shall  want  you  no  more  to-night." 

271 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  hussar  gave  the  military  salute,  in  spite  of  his 
smart  civilian  costume — there  was,  perhaps,  just  a  shade  of 
surprise  in  his  wide  blue  eyes — but  he  executed  the  orders 
with  praiseworthy  swiftness,  and  in  another  moment 
Alain  was  standing  outside  on  the  swaying  platform,  his 
coat  collar  drawn  up  to  the  top  of  his  cap,  his  hands  thrust 
deep  in  his  pockets,  meditating  bitterly  on  the  caprices 
of  brides — even  when  widows ! 

Then  his  thoughts  grew  calmer,  sweeter,  and  wandered 
to  the  perfumed  little  room  where  Sacha — his  own  adored 
little  Sacha — lay  among  the  white  violets,  already  sleep- 
ing, perhaps.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  he  asked  himself, 
staring  up  into  the  black  sky  where  not  a  star  sparkled, 
then  at  the  hardened  snow  across  which  the  train  ran  at 
full  speed,  little  imagining  that  a  flesh-and-blood  reply 
to  his  question  was  flying  on  his  track  a  hundred  versts  or 
so  behind,  and  that  it  too  stood  upon  an  open  platform, 
grasping  the  copper  railing  with  rigid  ringers,  and  inhaling 
eagerly  the  icy  wind  that  followed  the  rush  of  the  pur- 
suing train. 

Sacha  was  not  asleep  amid  her  nuptial  violets,  nor  even 
in  bed  as  yet.  She  too  was  strangely  wide  awake,  and 
not  once  had  she  spoken  to  Rosalie,  still  bustling  around 
like  some  galvanized  creature.  A  frown  was  drawing 
together  the  honest  little  maid's  dark  eyebrows;  clearly 
she  was  not  satisfied  with  her  mistress,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  looking  like  an  angel  in  her  flow- 
ing night-robe  and  unbound  hair. 

"All  is  ready  now,  Madame  la  Marquise!"  Rosalie  dryly 
announced.  "You  will  catch  your  death  of  cold  if  you 
don't  get  into  bed  at  once!" 

Sacha,  as  if  awakened  by  a  blow,  gave  a  shuddering 
start,  and  gazed  uncomprehendingly  at  her  attendant. 

"To  bed — to  bed?"  she  whispered, 

272 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Why,  of  course,  to  bed !  Does  Madame  la  Marquise  in- 
tend to  sleep  on  the  floor?" 

For  an  instant  the  bride  looked  hesitatingly  at  the 
flower-decked  couch,  then  with  an  exclamation  rendered 
unintelligible  by  tears,  ran  forward  and  hid  herself  in 
the  pillows,  to  cry  her  heart  out! 

"There's  reasonableness  for  you!"  Rosalie  murmured, 
but  melted  by  her  mistress's  evident  distress  she  went  to 
her,  and  gently  tried  to  get  her  out  from  under  the  masses 
of  fragrant  whiteness.  "  Voyons,  voyons  done,  Madame, 
aren't  you  ever  going  to  be  steady?  Where's  the  use  of 
acting  like  this?  .  .  .  What's  ailing  you?  Have  you 
quarrelled  with  Monsieur  le  Marquis?"  She  bent  quite 
close  to  the  tousled  head,  lost  between  the  mountainous 
pillows,  and  whispered  in  the  tiny  ear,  "  Shall  I  fetch  him  ? 
Please,  please,  let  me!" 

Sacha  actually  bounced  up  like  a  rubber  ball,  and  sat 
upright,  her  small  fists  clinched.  "No,  no!"  she  cried; 
"not  him,  or  any  one  else!" 

"Any  one  else!"  Rosalie  said,  in  dismay.  "Have  you 
gone  insane,  Madame?" 

"  Not  yet — but  I  soon  shall,  if  they  don't  leave  me  alone !" 

Mechanically,  instinctively,  as  if  by  force  of  habit, 
Rosalie  was  smoothing  the  dishevelled  hair.  "  You  make 
yourself  miserable,"  she  was  saying,  "and  for  what?  Be- 
cause you  have  married  the  very  handsomest,  best,  and 
most  attractive  man  in  the  whole  world.  What  new 
folly  is  this,  Madame  la  Marquise?  I,  who  have  lived 
with  you  ever  since  you  left  the  convent-school — even  I — 
can't  understand  you!" 

"Then  you  must  be  a  mole,  with  no  eyes  at  all!" 

A  sudden  idea  made  Rosalie  straighten  herself,  and  stare 
at  the  hysterical  girl,  crouching  like  a  fury  on  the  dis- 
ordered bed. 

273 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

"Not  Count  Serge?"  she  asked,  as  though  after  what 
had  just  happened  she  thought  she  had  a  right  to  speak 
plainly. 

Sacha's  head  went  down  lower,  until  it  touched  her 
raised  knees.  "Not  Count  Serge?"  repeated  Rosalie, 
and  there  was  distinct  contempt  in  her  voice  this  time. 

"  And  you  married  this  poor  gentleman,  worth  a  million 
Count  Urlanskys,  only  to  love  the  other  so  much  that  you 
refuse  yourself  to  your  lawful  husband?" 

Still  Sacha  did  not  move,  and  Rosalie's  severe  dark  eyes 
continued  to  scan  mercilessly  the  huddled,  shamed  figure. 
"Huh!"  she  muttered,  sliding  to  her  feet,  her  usually 
smiling  face  petrified  into  something  almost  tragic. 
That  " Huh!"  had  sounded  like  the  guttural  monosyllable 
of  a  Redskin,  and  her  step  seemed  now  as  silent  as  any 
Indian's,  as  she  retreated  toward  the  toilet -table  and 
dressing-case  for  a  glass  and  some  neatly  folded  papers 
in  a  golden  comfit-box.  In  a  moment  she  was  back,  and 
calmly  lifting  Sacha's  drooping  head,  said  authoritatively, 
"Take  this  at  once,  Madame,  for  if  you  refuse  I  shall  call 
Monsieur,  and  tell  him  you  are  ill!" 

The  threat  worked,  for  Sacha's  pink  tongue  received  the 
shining  powder,  and  half  a  glass  of  water  was  dutifully 
swallowed.  Without  another  word  Rosalie  rearranged 
the  covers,  tossing  the  flowers  mercilessly  aside,  laid  her 
mistress's  head  comfortably  on  the  pillow,  and  doubling 
the  rosy  veils  of  the  lamps,  went  to  the  stiffest  chair  she 
could  find  and  sat  down. 

Once  or  twice  Sacha  moved  uneasily,  then  came  a 
"  Rosalie,  come  lie  down  too.  Come  here,  I  am  so  un- 
happy!" 

"  Sh-h-h !"  the  maid  answered ;  " go  to  sleep."  And  still 
sitting  upright,  as  if  sleep  were  the  last  thing  for  her  to 
think  of,  she  awaited  the  first  long-drawn  breath  that 

274 


SNOW-FIRE 

would  tell  her  that  the  chloral  had  acted.  Nor  did  she 
move  when  this  rejoiceful  sound  met  her  ear,  but  sat 
grimly  on,  her  well-shaped  hands  clasped  upon  her  co- 
quettish lace  apron,  awaiting  absolute  certainty.  Gretzki 
had  told  her,  when  she  had  gone  to  fetch  a  carafe,  that  his 
captain  was  out  on  the  platform  in  the  piercing  night,  and 
the  warm  faithful  hearts  of  both  servants  were  alike 
stirred  with  pity. 

At  last  she  heard  the  panel  at  the  far  end  of  the  salon 
carefully  opened,  then  drawn  to;  a  softened  step  move 
about  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  the  fall  of  a  body  on  a 
divan.  Breathless  with  anxiety,  she  rose,  and  taking  off 
her  dainty  French  slippers,  moved  slowly  to  the  portieres, 
thick  as  the  baize  doors  of  a  church.  For  quite  a  while 
she  perceived  nothing,  and  then,  putting  her  ear  close  to 
the  imperceptible  line  between  the  draperies,  she  heard 
the  long-drawn,  almost  silent  sobs  of  a  man. 

"The  little  wretch!"  she  thought,  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  now  peaceful  Sacha,  reposing  there  like  a 
tired  child.  "I  should  drag  her  to  him,  that's  what  I 
should  do — but  there's  no  knowing  how  she  mightn't  act, 
especially  after  taking  that  powder!" 

She  stood  motionless  again,  thinking  what  anguish  it 
must  be  that  broke  down  such  a  man  as  that — and  then 
with  the  resolution  that  characterized  all  her  actions,  she 
silently  slipped  through  the  curtains  into  the  salon. 

Here  too  the  lamps  were  heavily  veiled,  but  her  sharp 
eyes  saw  at  once  Alain's  tall  figure  lying  at  full  length  on 
the  low  sofa,  his  face  buried  in  the  cushions,  his  shoulders 
rising  and  falling  with  every  deep-drawn  breath,  and 
stepping  lightly  to  his  side,  she  knelt  and  touched  him 
on  the  arm. 

"  Sacha  ?"  he  asked,  raising  his  haggard  face  for  a  second. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  only  Rosalie.     Madame  la 

J9  275 


SNOW-FIRE 

Marquise  is  asleep — but  indeed  Monsieur  le  Marquis  must 
not  take  her  caprices  so  seriously.  She  is  the  best  child 
in  the  world.  But  she  is  a  child  still,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing!" 

Alain's  face  was  once  more  hidden,  but  he  was  quiet 
now,  listening  to  the  soothing  French  voice. 

"To-morrow,"  whispered  poor  Rosalie,  "It  will  be  all 
smiles  and  sunshine.  She  was  nervous,  voila-tout!  Let 
me  make  you  more  comfortable  before  I  go." 

Alain  lifted  his  six  feet  two  from  the  couch,  and  looked 
straight,  without  any  false  shame,  at  the  small,  slender 
consoler. 

"  Thank  you,  Rosalie,"  he  said,  really  touched.  "  I  am 
a  fool.  Oh!  yes,  a  fool!  But  no  doubt  to-morrow  morn- 
ing I  shall  be  all  smiles  and  sunshine  too." 

She  had  swiftly  busied  herself  meanwhile,  piled  up  the 
head-rest  of  the  couch  with  cool,  fresh  pillows,  fetched  a 
light  warm  fur  rug  from  a  locker,  and  while  he  stood 
gazing  harshly  at  the  unreflecting  windows,  she  prepared 
something  in  a  tall  glass  which  she  now  brought  to  his 
side.  "  Please,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  drink  this.  It  is  a 
great  nerve  tonic." 

Alain  tasted  the  brew  and  coughed.  "Your  nerve 
tonics  are  a  bit  strong,"  he  murmured. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  sagely  wagging  her  head.  "But  I 
implore  Monsieur  to  lie  down  again.  Drink  my  tonic, 
and  in  two  minutes  ni  vu,  ni  connu,  Monsieur  will  be 
asleep." 

There  was  so  much  anxiety  in  the  pleading  voice,  that 
Alain  complied  at  once. 

"  I  can  turn  my  back  if  Monsieur  will  remove  his  coat. 
Or  had  I  better  call  Gretzki?" 

"Don't  call  Gretzki,  Rosalie,"  Alain  replied,  already 
lying  dutifully  stretched  on  the  soft  couch. 

276 


SNOW-FIRE 

"All  right;  then  let  Monsieur  le  Marquis  just  quickly 
drink  this!" 

Again  he  obeyed,  and  when  she  had  watched  him  drain 
the  last  drop,  she  put  the  glass  on  a  nearby  table,  covered 
him  up  with  the  fur  robe,  tucking  it  all  around  him  as  if 
he  had  been  a  little  boy,  and  standing  on  a  chair,  pulled 
the  lamp  shades  still  further  down. 

"Bon  soir,  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  Sleep,  please,  for 
Madame's  sake;  and,  if  I'm  not  offending,  may  our  God 
of  France  bless  you!" 

Alain,  amazed,  rose  on  one  elbow:  "  You  are  a  good  girl, 
Rosalie,"  he  said,  almost  aloud,  but  she  was  gone,  and  he 
lay  there  wondering;  more  quietly,  but  just  as  perplexedly 
as  before. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Because  I  love,  your  will  must  be 
A  rule  of  iron  unto  me. 

M.  M. 

A  FINE  cold  rain,  not  much  heavier  than  a  Scotch  mist, 
blurred  the  contour  of  Paris,  crouching  beneath  mourn- 
ful clouds  of  unrelieved  gray.  Parisians  call — for  short, 
no  doubt — their  beloved  city  La  Vitte  Lumibre;  but  on  this 
sad  early  morning  it  did  not  appear  to  deserve  the  ap- 
pellation in  any  way.  The  streets  were  very  nearly 
empty,  save  for  a  few  poor  devils  hurrying  to  the  places 
of  business  where  work  commenced  before  eight  o'clock, 
and  groups  of  those  famous  midinettes — who  have  of 
recent  years  caused  so  much  newspaper  drivel — running 
"between  the  drops,"  as  they  call  it,  in  their  thin  water- 
proofs; their  plain  little  tasteful  hats,  extremely  well- 
shod  small  feet,  and  elaborately  dressed  hair  revealing 
their  class  at  one  glance.  A  man,  his  long  blue  blouse 
and  black  silk  cap  reminding  one  by  its  typical  form  of  a 
tall  cake  mould,  was  driving  before  him  across  the  Place 
Vendome  a  squad  of  she-asses,  each  beast  adorned  with  a 
circle  of  tinkling  bells  around  the  neck.  He  too  was  going 
his  hardest,  for  the  hour  was  fast  approaching  when  his 
many  clients,  children  or  invalids  all,  would  impatiently 
await  their  pint  of  warm  milk,  and  as  he  went  he  cursed 
volubly  and  raucously  to  make  the  poor  little  donkeys 
keep  moving  at  the  short,  quick  jog-trot  which  did  harm 
neither  to  themselves  nor  to  their  merchandise. 

278 


SNOW-FIRE 

This  bucolic  troop  reached  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  just  as  a 
voiture  de  grande  Remise  came  rumbling  toward  the  Hotel 
Meurice,  and  Sacha,  poking  her  head  out,  continued  to 
look  at  them,  intensely  amused,  as  long  as  she  could  see 
them  nimbly  ambling  along  the  slippery  gleaming  pave- 
ment. She  had  never  been  in  Paris,  had  Sacha,  and  al- 
though it  was  but  a  poor  welcome  that  the  "paradise  of 
women  and  hell  of  horses"  was  giving  her,  yet  she  threw 
herself  to  this  side  and  that  of  the  carriage,  fairly  drinking 
in  the  streets,  parks,  and  monuments  that  she  had  longed 
to  see  ever  since  her  childhood. 

The  morning  greetings  between  the  newly  wedded  pair 
had  not  been  so  embarrassing  as  on  the  previous  day, 
since  Alain  had  not  allowed  his  bride  to  be  awakened 
until  there  was  barely  time  to  bathe,  dress,  and  drink 
a  cup  of  hot  tea.  Then  having  told  Rosalie  and  Gretzki 
to  remain  behind  with  the  luggage,  arranged  that  Grand- 
Duchess  Daria's  private  car  should  remain  in  the  station 
until  further  orders,  and  hired  a  small  omnibus  for  the 
servants  and  the  trunks,  he  had  helped  Sacha  into  the 
equipage,  engaged  by  telegram  in  advance,  and  taken  his 
seat  beside  her  before  he  found  time  to  speak  to  her  at  all. 

From  the  folds  of  the  long,  gray  veil  pinned  over  her 
hat  and  tied  under  her  chin,  Sacha  watched  him  now  and 
again  with  a  touch  of  apprehension.  He  no  longer  looked 
the  adoring  lover  with  whom  she  had  left  9t.  Petersburg, 
but  a  totally  different  man,  courteous  as  ever — even  a 
little  more  so  perhaps,  if  that  were  possible — but  absolute- 
ly unsmiling,  and  very  silent:  two  things  that  made  her 
excessively  angry.  In  consequence  she  became  ardently 
but  voicelessly  absorbed  in  the  gray-draped  capital. 

Beneath  the  elaborate  glass  and  forged-iron  "  awning," 
spreading  its  beneficent  impermeability  before  the  Meurice, 
Alain  handed  her  out,  and  preceding  her  into  the  costly 

279 


SNOW-FIRE 

ultra-chic  old  hotel,  begged  of  a  superb  official,  almost 
as  gilded  and  imposing  as  the  "Swiss"  of  a  Cathedral,  to 
be  shown  to  the  apartments  retained  for  the  Marquis  and 
Marquise  de  Coetmen.  In  an  instant  all  was  dignified 
bustle  in  the  great  palm-decorated  hall,  and  with  the  very 
perfection  of  speed  the  young  couple  were  brought  to  the 
threshold  of  what  is  known  as  L1  appartement  des  Princes. 
Princely  it  emphatically  is,  with  its  lofty  salon  and  dining- 
room,  its  two  huge  bedchambers  and  bath-rooms,  furnish- 
ed with  solid  and  simple  magnificence,  not  to  mention  the 
wonderful  profusion  of  flowers  placed  for  the  occasion  on 
every  table  or  console.  Even  the  long  balcony  upon 
which  it  opened  was  adorned  by  jardinieres  filled  with 
variegated  ivy,  alternating  with  urns  of  laurel,  box,  and 
similar  hardy  shrubs;  giving  welcome  assurance  that 
here,  even  when  winter  had  scarcely  begun  its  prepara- 
tion for  departure,  one  could  gaze  upon  masses  of  hopeful 
verdure  without  so  much  as  leaving  one's  arm-chair. 
This  was  yet  another  attention  of  Daria's,  whose  heart 
had  smitten  her  ever  so  slightly  as  she  looked  her  last 
upon  Alain  and  Sacha,  and  who  in  consequence  had  taken 
their  welcome  to  France  into  her  own  hands,  just  as  she 
had  every  detail  of  their  wedding-feast. 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis,  desire-t-il  qu'on  monte  du  the, 
ou  bien  du  chocolat  et  des  petits  pains  en  attendant  le  de- 
jeuner?" 

"  What  do  you  wish  done,  Sacha  ?"  Alain  asked  his  wife, 
who,  with  her  back  turned  to  him,  was  staring  down  with 
brimming  eyes  at  the  wet  pavement  below. 

"Oh,  just  whatever  you  please,  Alain.  It's  too  early 
for  anything  solid." 

"Yes,  certainly,"  he  replied;  and  after  ordering  up  the 
chocolate  and  crescents  for  which  Paris  is  so  justly 
celebrated,  and  dismissing  the  head-waiter  and  his  most 

280 


SNOW-FIRE 

trusted  understrappers — who  bowed  themselves  nearly 
double  as  they  retired  from  the  room — he  walked  toward 
Sacha  with  unhurried  deliberate  steps,  and  asked  whether 
in  the  absence  of  her  maid  she  would  allow  him  to  help  her 
remove  her  wraps  and  hat. 

"Thank  you,  you  are  very  good,"  she  stiffly  replied. 
And  without  a  word  Alain  bent  to  the  task  of  disen- 
tangling many  formidable  pins  from  a  long  scarf-like  veil 
and  complicated  hat.  His  eyes  darkened  as  he  thought 
of  the  coquettish  glances  and  amusing  little  tricks  of  voice 
and  manner  that  had  filled  the  short  days  of  their  engage- 
ment with  joy  inexpressible;  but  he  caught  his  underlip 
between  his  teeth,  and  proceeded  methodically,  until  he 
had  relieved  her  of  hat,  veil,  coat,  and  even  gloves — ac- 
complishing all  with  a  grave  gentleness  which  made  her 
feel  that,  with  her  complaints  and  tears  and  frowns,  she 
was  acting  like  a  thoroughly  underbred  woman. 

Then,  carefully  avoiding  to  look  at  her  pale  face  and 
reddened  eyes,  he  said: 

"  If  you  want  to  smooth  your  hair  now,  your  travelling- 
bag  is  already  open  in  your  dressing-room,  and  the  button 
on  the  left  of  the  toilet-table  calls  up  the  first  femme  de 
chambre  of  the  hotel." 

This  last  example  of  his  eternal  concern  for  her  comfort 
tore  away  Sacha's  last  shreds  of  self-respect,  and  without 
even  a  murmured  thanks  she  fled  ignominiously. 

Left  alone,  Alain,  who  had  done  all  his  fastidious 
grooming  on  the  private  car,  strode  about,  opening  win- 
dows. It  was  pouring  hard  now,  and  the  pattering  of 
water  on  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  balcony's  miniature 
forest  did  him  good,  though  the  penetrating  damp  of 
Paris,  after  the  cold  of  St.  Petersburg,  was  anything  but 
invigorating. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  he  asked  himself 

281 


SNOW-FIRE 

again  and  again,  with  true  Breton  obstinacy.  "What 
has  changed  her  so?"  He  stepped  to  a  table  where  his 
coat  had  been  laid,  took  a  cigar  from  the  pocket,  bit  off 
the  end  savagely,  returned  to  the  nearest  window,  and 
stood  there,  puffing  out  into  the  rain  slender  jets  of  blue 
smoke  that  writhed  in  curious  prismatic  volutes. 

" She  loved  me,  I  thought,"  he  sadly  reflected.  "Why 
else  should  she  have  asked  me  to  marry  her? — me,  an 
impoverished  noble,  with  nothing  to  offer  her  but  an 
empty  title,  and  a  nationality  that  is  beginning  to  merge 
so  closely  into  the  Republic  of  France  that  it  will  soon  be 
no  nationality  at  all.  She  had  immense  wealth,  a  high- 
sounding  title  of  her  own,  an  assured  position  at*  her 
Court,  and  boundless  liberty!  Why,  then, should  she  be 
anxious  to  share  the  existence  of  what  Madame  Nazou- 
moff  so  kindly  called  un  officier  de  fortune?  She  cannot 
have  known  what  she  wanted. 

"I  will  have  an  explanation  of  this  mystery,  what- 
ever happens,"  he  muttered,  breaking  his  cigar  in  two, 
and  throwing  both  halves  far  over  the  balcony;  and 
standing  there  in  view  of  the  awakening  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  with  their  bare  trees  and  chill  fountains,  he 
fell  into  a  weary  maze  of  thought,  from  which  he  was  at 
last  roused  by  a  soft  and  courteous  knock  at  the  door 
that  had  already  been  twice  repeated. 

"Come  in!"  he  said,  impatiently;  and  seeing  the  two 
waiters  bearing  the  premier  dejeuner,  added:  "Please 
arrange  the  table,  and  notify  Madame  de  Coetmen,  who 
is  in  her  dressing-room." 

While  these  commands  were  being  executed,  he  took 
from  his  dressing-case  a  gold-flecked  flacon  of  Tunisian 
amber  extract,  touched  his  mustache  with  a  drop  of  the 
delicate  scent  (her  appetite  must  not  be  spoiled  by  even 
the  least  flavor  of  cigars),  then  having  shut  all  the  win- 

283 


SNOW-FIRE 

dows,  went  into  the  dining-room  and  dismissed  the  pomp- 
ous attendants,  saying  that  he  would  himself  wait  upon 
his  wife. 

A  few  minutes  later  Sacha  came  in,  her  wonderful  hair 
exceeding  smooth,  all  traces  of  tears  washed  away,  and 
wearing  a  pale  pink  cre"pe-de-Chine  gown,  flounced  with 
Point  d'Argentan,  which  became  her  extraordinarily  well. 
Alain  had  already  poured  out  the  fragrant  foaming  choco- 
late in  the  Sevres  cups  of  the  far-famed  Hotel  Meurice 
service. 

"  I  hope  you  are  hungry,"  he  remarked,  drawing  back 
a  chair  for  her.  Evidently  the  "Darlings"  and  "Dear- 
ests"  and  "Sweethearts"  of  yore  had  disappeared  from 
his  vocabulary;  and  suddenly  Sacha  felt  slighted,  almost 
to  the  point  of  insult. 

"What  ails  him?"  she  angrily  asked  herself,  slipping 
into  the  chair,  and  beginning  to  fidget  with  her  cup  and 
saucer.  "  I  thought  he  loved  me.  Are  all  men  equally 
fickle,  then?" 

"These  crescents  look  tempting,  don't  they?"  Alain 
observed,  passing  the  silver  basketful  to  her. 

"That's  as  it  may  be,"  she  replied,  shortly,  "but  I'm 
not  in  the  least  hungry."  She  brought  the  chocolate  to 
her  lips,  and  sipped  nearly  half  the  cup  with  conscious 
relish,  though  her  great  dark  eyes  still  looked  resentfully 
at  him  over  the  gold-clouded  rim. 

"Do  you  feel  tired  or  indisposed  in  any  way?"  he  re- 
sumed, glancing  keenly  at  her.  "I  thought  this  fruit 
would  please  you,  perhaps.  May  I  hand  you  some?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  dryly.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  all 
I  want  is  the  assurance  that  your  manner  of  to-day  is 
not  a  vice  which  you  forgot  to  mention." 

Alain  gazed  at  her  in  amazement.  This  was  carrying 
the  war  into  Africa  with  a  vengeance. 

583 


SNOW-FIRE 

"I  thought,"  he  returned,  "that  this  was  the  manner 
you  desired  .  .  .  nay,  positively  requested,  from  .  .  .  from 
your  husband." 

"Then  you  made  a  characteristic  mistake — charac- 
teristic of  your  race  and  people!"  she  cried.  "That's  all! 
I  have  been  tired  and  nervous,  perhaps.  I  am  still  so, 
to  tell  the  truth.  But  it's  no  reason  for  you  to  treat  me 
like  a  stranger — and  act  like  a  brute!"  She  was  furiously 
angry,  for  it  was  clear  that  her  provocative  mood  had  no 
effect  upon  his  now  perfectly  steeled  nerves.  The  least 
break  in  her  voice  would  still  have  brought  him  to  her 
feet;  but  this  abusive  little  virago  had  no  power  what- 
ever to  move  him.  Meanwhile  he  was  slowly  buttering 
a  piece  of  toast,  which  he  hadn't  the  slightest  intention  of 
eating,  but  which  he  nevertheless  contemplated  with  the 
interest  of  a  veritable  gourmet. 

"  Since  you  desire  an  explanation,"  he  calmly  retorted, 
"  I  will  give  you  one.  For  truth  and  brevity,  at  least,  it 
will  be  above  reproach.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
I  fell  in  love  with  you  at  first  sight." 

"The  famous  Coup  de  Foudre,  I  dare  say,"  she  mocked, 
tilting  her  little  nose. 

"  Exactly.  But  since  I  knew  myself  to  be  a  poor  and 
unillustrious  soldier,  I  kept  away  as  much  as  I  could  from 
temptation — and  you.  Whereupon  you  began  to  give  me 
signs  of  such  unmistakable  friendship,  not  to  say  posi- 
tive affection,  that  you  made  me  lose  my  head  more  than 
I  should  ever  have  permitted  myself  to  do.  Then  came 
this  strange  order  to  follow  Grand-Duchess  Stepan  to 
the  Atlas;  and  —  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so  in 
pure  self-defense  —  it  was  then  that,  to  my  inexpress- 
ible surprise  and  happiness,  you  asked  me  to  marry 
you." 

"Well,  and  what  of  it?"  she  demanded,  haughtily. 

284 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

"  What  of  it,  do  you  say  ?  A  week  before  our  marriage 
you  began  to  draw  away  from  me;  my  presence  appeared 
unwelcome  to  you,  and  my  touch,  if  I  so  much  as  kissed 
your  hand,  almost  abhorrent.  In  my  persistent  blind- 
ness and  folly  I  set  all  this  down  to  shyness  and  youth, 
although  in  a  widow,  be  she  ever  so  young,  such  conduct 
might  be  considered  somewhat  exaggerated.  But  love, 
as  I  said  already,  is  helplessly  and  incurably  blind,  which 
somewhat  palliates  my  lamentable  lack  of  comprehension. 
And  now  I  am  done,  with  only  this  to  add.  Your  be- 
havior, since  we  left  Russia,  proves  that  I  would  lose  all 
right  to  call  myself  a  gentleman  were  my  manner  to  you 
other  than  it  is,  until  you  yourself  show  that  you  desire 
our  relations  toward  each  other  to  change.  We  Bretons 
love  very  profoundly  when  we  love  at  all,  but  we  do  not 
care  to  force  our  love  where  it  is  not  wanted.  Your  rea- 
sons for  acting  as  you  did  I  do  not  ask.  I  know  you  to 
be  an  honest  and  pure  woman,  and  it  is  for  you  to  tell  them 
to  me  in  your  own  good  time." 

He  paused,  and  she,  only  the  more  enraged  at  being 
put  so  hopelessly  in  the  wrong,  dashed  her  cup  down 
upon  the  floor,  smashing  it,  despite  the  thick  carpet,  into 
countless  pieces.  Then  rising  to  her  feet  and  leaning  on 
the  back  of  her  chair,  she  watched  him  pick  up  the  bits 
of  precious  porcelain  with  fixed  attention. 

"I  suppose  you  think  me  mad,"  she  said,  at  last,  glar- 
ing at  him,  while  he  deposited  his  china  harvest  in  the 
widowed  saucer. 

"No,"  he  rejoined,  "unless  wanton  cruelty  may  be 
called  so." 

"Oh!  I  am  cruel,  barbarous,  impossible!  I  am  all 
that,  and  more — in  your  opinion,  at  least!" 

"Sacha,  Sacha,  I  may  be  a  strong  man,  but  I  cannot 
stand  much  more  of  this!  It  must  be  an  evil  dream. 

285 


SNOW-FIRE 

Surely,  it  isn't  my  soft,  tender,  childish  little  wife  who 
speaks  and  behaves  so!" 

His  voice  for  the  first  time  quivered  slightly,  and  his 
frank  blue  Breton  eyes  looked  straight  into  her  own 
with  an  expression  that  made  her  for  once  feel  sorrier 
for  him  than  for  herself.  But  at  that  moment  the  door 
behind  his  back  was  slowly  pushed  open,  and  a  tall  figure 
entered  the  room.  She  uttered  a  smothered  shriek,  and 
Alain,  turning  on  his  heel,  came  face  to  face  with  Serge 
Urlansky. 

"Good  Heavens,  man!"  he  cried,  "where  did  you  drop 
from?  Why,  you  nearly  frightened  my  wife  to  death!" 

Serge's  drawn  features  assumed  a  sarcastic  expression, 
and  Sacha,  holding  tightly  to  the  back  of  her  chair, 
swayed  to  and  fro,  unheeded  by  the  two  men,  though 
her  wildly  dilated  eyes  turned  from  Alain  to  Serge,  and 
from  Serge  to  Alain,  with  pathetic  supplication. 

"Your  wife!"  Serge  sneered.  " De  facto  or  de  jure? 
There  lies  the  point  for  us  three." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Alain,  ad- 
vancing upon  his  "dearest  friend."  "And,  by-the-way, 
who  has  given  you  the  right  to  question  me,  Count 
Urlansky?" 

"  Our  love — mine — and  hers !' '  Serge  replied,  passionately. 

Alain  staggered  a  little.  The  anger  in  his  face  was 
yielding  to  bewilderment,  and  suddenly  this  in  its  turn 
gave  way  to  a  fierce  light  of  comprehension.  Instantly 
he  drew  himself  up  and  confronted  Sacha. 

"Is  this  the  reason?"  he  sternly  asked.  "Did  you 
ever  at  any  time,  ...  do  you  now,  love  Serge  Urlansky?" 

Sacha,  still  clinging  to  the  chair-back,  was  staring  blind- 
ly before  her.  She  could  see  only  a  ghastly  something, 
a  writhing  pallid  horror,  that  somehow  she  herself  had 
created,  and  the  vision  struck  her  dumb. 

286 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Because,"  Alain  fiercely  proceeded,  "either  you  tell 
me  the  truth,  or  else  I'll  have  to  get  it  from  a  man  who" 
— his  voice  sagged  for  an  instant — "has  been  my  best — 
almost  my  only  friend." 

Serge,  resting  one  hand  upon  the  table  where  he  had 
paused  on  entering  the  room,  was  as  livid,  almost,  as 
Alain,  and  these  two  blonde,  blue-eyed  giants  looked 
strikingly  alike  as  they  for  a  second  faced  each  other  like 
soldiers  on  the  field  of  honor.  The  thought  of  the  field 
of  honor  had  already  flashed  upon  Sacha,  and  terrified 
by  the  possibilities  of  such  an  outcome,  trembling  vio- 
lently at  vague  glimpses  of  what  the  future  might  be  pre- 
paring for  all  three,  she  made  a  desperate  effort  to  gather 
herself  together.  From  her  colorless  lips  came  one  com- 
prehensive Russian  word,  "Nelzya!"  (It  cannot  be  done.) 

"  It  must  be  done,  on  the  contrary ;  for  my  honor,  for 
yours,  for  Serge's.  Either  I  have  married  a  bad  woman 
and  he  is  a  scoundrel,  or  something  is  thoroughly  wrong 
somewhere.  In  any  case,  if  Serge  has  not  failed  me,  you 
alone  are  responsible  for — too  much  imagination,  or  God 
knows  what — and  it  will  only  remain  for  me  to  arrange 
what  is  to  become  of  us,  you  and  I." 

He  spoke  now  with  a  curious  slowness  and  quietude, 
and  Serge,  glancing  at  his  face,  suddenly  dropped  his 
gaze.  The  wave  of  madness  that  had  borne  him  all  the 
way  from  the  Caucasus,  to  cast  him  into  this  strangely 
quiet  room,  sucked  backward  on  that  instant,  and  left 
him  a  miserable  piece  of  flotsam  indeed.  Still,  there  was 
no  retreat  for  him  now;  he  must  go  through  with  what  he 
had  begun. 

"Pojahupta!"  (if  you  please)  Sacha  implored,  her  hands 
clasped  tighter  than  ever,  her  face  one  intense  prayer  for  \ 
mercy.     But  Alain,  in  spite  of  all  his  love  for  her,  was  in- 
exorable, and  Serge  could  not  interfere. 

287 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  You  men  are  horribly  cruel  .  .  .  !"  She  paused,  her 
eyes  roaming  from  one  to  the  other  as  before.  "You 
would  not  force  me  to  such  humiliation!" 

"No — only  to  tell  the  truth,"  Alain  replied. 

"I  will,  then,  since  .  .  .  since  I  must!"  she  cried;  and 
choking  down  the  sobs  rising  in  her  throat,  she  drew  her- 
self up  with  a  kind  of  desperate  pride.  "  This  is  the  truth, 
then,  and  may  God  forgive  you  for  tearing  it  from  me. 
I  loved  Serge  from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and  I  believed 
he  loved  me,  too."  She  passed  one  tremulous  hand  across 
her  forehead,  where  a  cold  moisture  was  gathering. 

"Did  he  ever  tell  you  so?"  Alain  demanded,  in  almost 
the  same  words  and  tone  that  Daria  had  used  during  that 
fateful  desert  ride.  Sacha  hesitated  .  .  .  swallowed  hard, 
and  impelled  to  tell  all  by  those  two  pairs  of  hard,  in- 
tent eyes,  murmured: 

"No,  not  in  words.     But  in  everything  but  that!" 

"  Did  he  or  did  he  not  make  you  a  formal  declaration  ?" 
Alain  stubbornly  pursued. 

"  No!"  Sacha  said,  in  a  suddenly  firm  voice.  "  He  never 
did,  though  many  of  his  sayings  surely  meant  it,  especially 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  Petersburg — though 
I  did  not  know  that  he  was  going.  Indeed,"  she  faltered 
on,  addressing  Alain  alone  now — "  indeed,  I  swear  to  you 
on  all  I  hold  sacred  that  I  never  for  an  instant  doubted 
his  sincerity.  And  then  with  no  good-bye  he  was  gone; 
nobody  knew  where." 

"Which  circumstance,  Madame,  permitted  of  your 
marrying  some  one  else,  by  your  own  will,  remember,  in 
a  remarkably  short  space  of  time  .  .  .  without  so  much  as 
giving  me  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,"  Serge  broke  in, bitter- 
ly, from  across  the  table. 

Like  a  fury  she  turned  upon  him.  "Do  you  imagine 
that  I  am  going  to  give  you  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  after 

288 


SNOW-FIRE 

what  I  heard  about  you?  You  deserve  no  mercy,  that 
is  certain,  and  shall  get  none  from  me — or  from  Alain 
either  when  he  knows.  He  has  some  serious  right  to 
complain,  but  you  .  .  .  you!"  And  the  ever-changeful 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  held  immeasurable  contempt. 

"  May  I  go  so  far  as  to  ask  what  you  heard  about  me  ?" 

"Oh,  you  want  the  truth,  you  also!  Well,  you  are 
going  to  get  it,  in  full  measure!"  She  was  speaking 
quickly  now,  and  a  trifle  breathlessly,  but  so  clearly  and 
collectedly  that  both  men  marvelled  at  her  sudden  self- 
possession. 

"First,"  she  recommenced,  "there  were  long  days  of 
waiting  for  a  sign,  a  letter— something,  in  short,  to  remind 
me  of  you." 

"Excuse  me,"  Serge  interposed,  "but  what  about  the 
white  roses  I  ordered  sent  to  you  every  morning  after 
my  departure?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "A  very  clever  idea,  if 
it  only  had  been  carried  out.  But,  you  see,  I  never  got 
so  much  as  the  petal  of  a  white  rose." 

Serge  suddenly  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  hair. 
"This,"  he  said,  curtly,  "needs  investigation.  But  per- 
mit me  to  point  out  to  you,  Madame,  that  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  be  given  the  lie,  and  were  you  not  a 
woman — women,  of  course,  cannot  be  held  answerable  for 
words — or  actions — " 

"  I  happen  to  be  still  answerable  for  Madame  de  Coe't- 
men's,  Urlansky.  Pray  do  not  forget  it,"  Alain  quietly 
interrupted,  without  a  trace  of  menace  in  his  voice.  He 
was  watching,  with  almost  the  disinterestedness  of  a 
judge,  the  duel  of  words  between  his  wife  and  his  friend. 

"I  shall  not  forget  it  again,"  Serge  replied,  "and  for 
this  first,  and,  I  assure  you,  only  offence  against  you, 
Alain,  I  beg  to  be  pardoned." 

389 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  If  you  are  quite  through,"  sneered  Sacha,  "  I  will  tell 
you  at  once,  so  as  to  put  an  end  to  all  this,  that  I  and 
I  alone  am  to  blame,  and  solely  responsible  for  every- 
thing. During  our  stay  in  the  Atlas — you  may  have 
heard  about  it,  Serge-Andre*itch — I  found  out  from  Count 
Kotchinine,  who  was  a  million  miles  from  divining  the 
harm  he  did,  since  he  did  not  even  know  that  I  was — 
acquainted  with  'young  Urlansky,'  as  he  called  you — 
well,  I  learned  that  from  the  time  of  his  entering  the 
army,  Serge- Andreitch  had  been  what  the  English  call, 
aptly,  if  a  trifle  crudely,  a  '  professional  lover,'  and  that 
his  famous  trip  to  nowhere  in  search  of  nothing  had  been 
undertaken  by  the  orders  of  the  Tsar,  with  a  view  to 
putting  a  stop  to  a  liaison  with  a  'lovely'  woman  whose 
family  could  endure  it  no  longer.  This,  of  course,  under 
the  circumstances,  was  a  pleasurable  discovery  for  me." 

"That  is  what  caused  your  fainting  fit  when  returning 
from  a  ride  with  Kotchinine  one  morning?"  Alain  could 
not  help  asking. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  when  I  was  quite  myself  again,  I  began 
to  give  the  absent  what  he  himself  calls  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt,  and  finally  determined  to  seek  counsel  from 
the  omniscient  Grand-Duchess." 

"Did  you  do  that?"  the  two  young  officers  asked  in 
one  breath,  their  faces  frozen  by  the  same  thought. 

"  Certainly  I  did !  Why  not  ?  I  even  asked  her,  point- 
blank,  the  name  of  the  degraded  creature  for  whose  sal- 
vage the  Emperor  himself  had  been  coaxed  to  interfere." 

"You  did  not  say  anything  of  that  sort  to  her?"  Alain 
demanded,  struck  through  the  numb  nerves  of  his  own 
pain  with  pity  for  Daria. 

"But  certainly  I  did!" 

Serge  abruptly  sat  down.  His  legs  seemed  unable  to 
support  him  any  longer;  while  Alain,  drawing  slightly 

290 


SNOW-FIRE 

away  from  his  wife,  once  more  began  his  minute  ques- 
tioning. 

"And  what  did  she  say?"  he  asked,  dreading  the  reply. 

"Bah!  What  do  you  think  a  woman  like  her  could 
say  but  the  truth  ?  She  admitted  that  my  informer  was 
right  on  most  points.  For  instance,  that  Count  Urlansky 
had  an — intrigue  with  a  married  woman,  and  while  we 
spoke  it  came  out  that  this  woman  had  grown-up  chil- 
dren; that  she  was  therefore  middle-aged,  if  not  more. 
Fancy  what  an  indescribable  villain  she  must  be — it 
nauseated  me  merely  to  hear  of  her.  But  Daria-Mikae- 
lovna  actually  had  a  good  word  to  say  for  both  of  them. 
She  explained  that  he  was  the  only  joy  of  a  sadly  tortured 
being,  ill-married  and  ill-treated;  that  he  was  faithful, 
and  the  truest  gentleman  on  earth,  or  words  to  that  effect. 
But,  bah!  I  scarcely  listened  I  was  so  disgusted!" 

Serge's  shoulders,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
folded  arms,  twisted  suddenly,  as  if  a  stab  had  gone  be- 
tween them;  but  Alain  alone  saw  this,  for  Sacha,  carried 
away  by  the  defence  of  her  own  cause,  went  on  at  full 
speed  : 

"  I  was  surprised  to  hear  such  words  of  mercy  from 
Daria-Mikaelovna,  whom  I  had  thought  extraordinarily 
severe,  but  I  was  too  upset  to  say  much  more,  and  then 
and  there  I  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  you,  Alain,  and 
began  to  flirt  deliberately  with  you." 

Her  pretty  voice  had  taken  on  a  mocking  tone,  as  if 
from  a  desire  to  inflict  a  pain  equal  to  her  own. 

"Flirt  deliberately!"  poor  Alain  murmured.  "And  so 
you  never  loved  me,  even  for  a  moment?  .  .  .  Not  for  a 
single  moment?"  He  knew  it  was  a  weak  and  despicable 
thing  to  say;  but  calm  as  he  had  appeared,  in  the  last 
few  moments  he  had  come  perilously  near  the  breaking 
strain. 

20  2QI 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Of  course.  ...  I  never  loved  you,  but  I  did  like  you, 
Alain" — the  hardness  of  her  tone  softened  impercepti- 
bly— "  you  were  the  only  person  who  had  ever  been  kind 
and  loyal  to  me." 

"And  yet  you  married  me  merely  to  spite  and  punish 
Urlansky?"  " 

"No,  no!  I  liked  you  always,  and  thought  I  would 
love  you  in  time — love  you  as  one  should  really  love  to 
be  happy,  but  until  then  ..." 

"Did  Grand-Duchess  Stepan  urge  you  to  marry  me?" 
he  asked,  abruptly. 

"No!" 

"She  did  not  try  to  influence  you  in  any  way?" 

"  No ;  although  when  we  returned  to  Petersburg  every 
one  seemed  to  think  she  must  have!" 

"  My  God !  And  she  as  much  as  warned  me  not  to  marry 
you,  when  once,  and  once  only,  we  rode  alone  together!" 

Sacha  made  no  reply,  and  it  was  only  after  a  long  pause 
that  he  again  broke  the  silence. 

"  Have  we,"  he  gravely  said,  "  heard  all  there  is  to  hear, 
or  may  we  expect  more  of  your  uncommonly inter- 
esting experiences?" 

"There  is  still  this,"  she  returned,  hardily.  "I  believe 
it  is  due  to  all  parties  concerned  to  state  that  it  is  I  who 
asked  you  to  marry  me,  and  also  that  I  held  you  at  arm's- 
length  during  the  journey  from  Petersburg  until  this  very 
minute.  I  am  responsible  for  everything — for  too  much 
imagination,  or  God  knows  what!  as  you  so  neatly  put 
it.  And  there!  Thank  God,  that's  all!" 

"Not  quite  all,"  said  Alain.  "You  have  still  to  apolo- 
gize for  speaking  of  holding  me  at  arm's-length ;  for  from 
the  instant  I  discovered  your  sudden  distaste  for  me,  I 
did  not  even  touch  your  hand  again,  as  you  are  perfectly 
well  aware." 

292 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Oh  yes,  of  course  you  have  acted  the  Preux  Cheva- 
lier to  the  end!"  she  mocked,  flashing  her  angry  eyes  at 
him.  "But  pray  tell  me  what  you  two  strong  and 
chivalrous  men  are  going  to  decide  between  you  as  to 
the  disposal  of  my  person?" 

Alain  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  though  still  bent 
on  deciphering  this  puzzling  feminine  enigma. 

"Serge  and  I,"  he  said,  at  last,  "must  consult  now 
how  best  to  protect  your  reputation.  So  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  I  will  conduct  you  to  your  room,  where  you  may 
wish  to  change  your  gown  before  lunch." 

"You  are  not  going  to — to — ?"  she  began,  quivering 
afresh  with  crushing  anxiety. 

"  No,  nothing  of  the  sort.  Why  should  I  call  anybody 
out  ?  For  my  wife's  love,  which  I  never  had  ?  But  there 
are  many  dispositions  to  be  agreed  upon.  You  and  I 
cannot  continue  so  peculiar  a — honeymoon;  neither  can 
we  at  once  return  to  St.  Petersburg.  And  first  of  all, 
we  must,  if  possible,  prevent  Serge's — pursuit — of  us 
from  becoming  known." 

"I  have  your  word?"  she  begged,  tremulously,  as  if 
she  had  not  heard  his  explanation. 

"You  have  my  word." 

She  threw  a  helpless,  imploring  look,  first  at  her  hus- 
band, then  at  the  motionless  figure  bent  over  the  table, 
and  swiftly,  almost  at  a  run,  crossed  the  room  to  her  own 
door,  which  closed  violently  upon  her  clouds  of  lace  and 
faultless  elegance. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Alain  strode  over  to  where 
Serge  sat  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Come,  Serge,  they  will  be  here  presently  to  serve 
luncheon.  Come  in  my  room,  where  we  can  speak  in 
peace." 

The  face  that  was  raised  toward  him  stirred  even 

293 


SNOW-FIRE 

Sacha's  husband  to  pity.  Fatigue,  nervous  tension,  and 
racking  emotions  had  set  their  seal  plainly  there.  Evi- 
dently the  handsome  Urlansky  was  for  the  moment  done, — 
everlastingly  done! 

"Wait  a  minute,"  the  Breton  muttered;  and  crossing 
over  to  a  side-board,  he  brought  from  the  cellaret  a 
crystal  flagon  of  liqueur  brandy,  and  poured  him  out  a 
full  claret-glass. 

"You  need  some  as  much  as  I  do!"  the  Guardsman 
said,  hoarsely,  as  he  rose  from  his  chair. 

"No,  I  have  things  to  do  which  will  brace  me  quite 
enough,"  Alain  replied,  preceding  him  to  his  own  bed- 
room. 

The  brandy  really  revived  Serge,  and  when  the  other 
had  locked  the  door  carefully,  it  was  he  who  first  broke 
the  silence. 

"I  suppose,"  he  remarked,  "that  you  wish  to  hear 
my  side  of  the  affair?" 

"No,  not  unless  you  wish  it,"  was  the  weary  response. 
(Indeed,  what  could  Serge's  '  side  of  the  affair '  matter  now 
to  Alain?) 

"I  certainly  should  not  do  so  otherwise." 

"Then  go  ahead,  as  there  is  much  for  us  to  do  before 
night." 

"I  did  love  Princess  Virianow,"  Serge  instantly  com- 
menced, "  and  desired  to  make  her  my  wife,  if  I  succeeded 
in  ...  in  ...  getting  free  from  . .  .  Daria!"  He  stopped 
short,  and  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  Alain,  who 
was  a  man  of  precautions,  and  had  brought  glass  and 
flagon  with  him,  poured  out  and  gravely  administered 
another  dose. 

"We  Russians,"  he  said,  quietly,  "are  good  drinkers, 
and  can  stand  more  than  a  trifle.  Drink  this!" 

Serge  obeyed,  and  then  resumed.  "She  —  Daria,  I 

294 


SNOW-FIRE 

mean — divined,  with  that  particular  sixth  sense  of  hers, 
that  my  feelings  toward  herself  were  cooling  off.  It  was 
then  that  she  offered  to  set  me  free — very  frankly  and 
generously,  I  am  bound  to  own !  I — coward  that  I  was — 
funked  the  truth  I  should  have  told  her,  and  renewed 
my  promises  to  her.  She  warned  me  then  that  I  had 
had  my  chance,  but  that  she  would  never  offer  it  to  me 
again.  Almost  at  once  I  was  ordered  to  the  Caucasus, 
on  what  I  have  since  discovered  was  no  more  than  a 
wild-goose  chase  .  .  .  but  that  doesn't  matter.  I,  being 
in  honor  bound  to  her,  could  not  offer  myself  to  ...  to 
the  Princess  Sacha;  and  certain  that  my  hints  had  been 
sufficient  to  make  her  await  my  return  before  deciding 
about  her  future  ..." 

"And,"  Alain  interrupted,  "your  love — and — gratitude 
to  her — the  other  I  mean,  having  wholly  disappeared?" 

"To  Daria!"  Serge  exclaimed.  "Oh!  well,  I  don't 
know — the  gratitude  did  remain  though." 

"  You  found  an  original  way  of  displaying  it." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Serge  muttered,  indifferently;  "but 
let  me  tell  you  the  rest  quickly,  while  there  is  time." 
And  in  a  lowered,  almost  drowsy  voice,  half  lying,  half 
sitting  on  a  couch,  he  went  on  describing  his  endless 
marches  in  the  mountains,  his  yearning  and  longing  for 
Sacha,  the  impossibility  of  communicating  with  Peters- 
burg— being  given  the  imposed  secrecy  and  "impor- 
tance" of  his  mission — his  gradual  discouragement,  then 
the  arrival  of  letters,  and  finally  his  mad  flight  and  in- 
sane pursuit  in  spite  of  Yegor's  energetic  remonstrances. 

Patiently,  though  only  half  attentive,  Alain  sat  beside 
him  through  it  all.  He  saw  how  necessary  it  was  to  let 
Serge  talk  himself  out.  But  now  he  straightened  up  in 
his  deep  chair,  and  came  directly  to  the  point. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  to  render  the  present  situa- 

295 


SNOW-FIRE 

tion  endurable  and  avoid  scandal?  We  love  the  same 
woman,  you  and  I.  Not  the  first  case  of  the  sort  on 
record,  perhaps;  but  the  fact  that  she  is  my  wife — de  jure 
only,  it  is  true — and  I  trust  you  believe  what  I  say — 
complicates  matters  a  little.  What  do  you  advise?" 

"  If  I  retreat,  will  you  and  Madame  de  Coetmen  live  in 
peace  and  honor  ?  I  have  caused  too  much  harm  already 
to  consider  the  depth  of  any  sacrifice." 

Alain  smiled  faintly.  "No,  your  retirement  from  the 
scene  would  not  make  us  live  either  peacefully  or  honor- 
ably together.  She  loves  you.  That  is  enough  for  me. 
She  is  lovely,  pure  and  good,  and  many  more  things  in 
her  impulsive,  childish  way.  But  the  Marquise  de  Coet- 
men must  be  much  more  than  that;  and  especially  she 
cannot  love  another  man  while  I  am  her  husband,  even 
though  only  in  name.  On  the  other  hand,  you  have 
divorce  in  Russia.  I — pardon  me  for  saying  so — am  too 
good  a  Catholic  to  countenance  so  tremendous  a  mis- 
take. But  we  were  married  in  the  Greek  Church  only, 
and  if  you  promise  to  marry  her,  I  shall  give  her  speedy 
cause  to  divorce  me.  You'll  excuse  me,  Serge,  but  I 
scarcely  feel  married  at  all — in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
To  make  my  dream  real  I  needed  the  Catholic  and  Breton 
wedding,  which  we  had  planned  to  have  performed  in 
my  own  little  corner  of  Finisterre." 

Serge  roused  himself  with  one  last  flash  of  energy. 
"  We  accept  divorce  in  Russia  after  a  fashion — but  you 
know  that  we  Nobles  must  have  the  Tsar's  consent,  which 
is  not  at  all  easy  to  obtain.  And  do  you  imagine  that, 
after  giving  your  marriage  his  direct  patronage,  he  will 
grant  that  to  me — an  officer  of  his  body-guard,  and — an 
Urlansky?^  Remember,  what  terrible  pressure  had  to  be 
exerted  upon  him  to  end  an  affair  that  concerned  him  very 
nearly." 

296 


SNOW-FIRE 

Alain  remained  silent  a  moment,  pondering  over  this 
new  difficulty,  of  which  he  had  not  thought. 

"  Look  here,  Serge !  Would  it  really  lose  you  your  com- 
mission .  .  .  and  make  you  an  exile  ...  if  Sacha  divorces 
me  and  marries  you?" 

"Certainly  it  would;  not  to  mention  my  having  left 
my  '  post  of  honor '  in  the  Caucasus,  in  direct  disobedience 
to  the  Tsar's  command.  That  alone  might  easily  let  me 
in  for  a  taste  of  Siberia." 

"Good  God!"  Alain  exclaimed,  "I  had  not  thought  of 
that,  either.  Let  me  think  a  moment."  He  rose  from 
his  chair,  mechanically  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  walked 
to  a  window  bathed  in  sunshine — the  clouds  of  the  early 
morning  having  given  way  to  pellucid  blue  skies — as  if 
instinctively  seeking  outward  warmth  and  comfort  while 
attempting  to  disentangle  the  gloomy  facts  before  him. 

"I  think  I  have  it!"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "I  have  it, 
Serge!" 

"What?"  came  drowsily  from  the  couch,  where  the 
latter  was  now  stretched  at  length,  his  half-closed  eyes 
blinking  at  the  pale-blue  trail  made  by  Alain's  cigarette, 
as  the  light  smoke  mingled  with  the  broad,  golden  ray 
flooding  the  room.  "What  have  you  got?" 

"This,"  Alain  hasten  to  explain,  in  his  quick,  decisive 
voice.  "First,  you  hasten  back  to  the  Caucasus  as  fast 
as  steam  can  carry  you.  When  there  you  write  to  the 
Emperor  that  you  can  find  no  trace  of  whatever  you 
were  sent  to  get — I  don't  know  what  it  is — and  that  such 
is  your  state  of  discouragement  and  ill-health  that  you 
would  sooner  send  in  your  resignation  from  the  army 
than  remain  there  a  month  longer.  No,  wait!  Write 
all  this  to  your  friend,  the  private  and  confidential  secre- 
tary of  H.  I.  M. — the  one  who — commend  me  to  such 
reliable  officials,  by- the- way — has  caused  so  much  mis- 

297 


SNOW-FIRE 

chief.  It  will  avoid  your  having  to  use  plain  speech  to 
Royalty — always  a  dangerous  proceeding." 

"  Yes  .  .  .  that's  a  good  idea,  I  think.  But  what  of  you 
and  .  .  .  your  wife?"  The  last  two  words  almost  stuck  in 
Serge's  throat,  but  he  got  them  out  creditably  enough. 
He  had  raised  himself  a  little,  waiting  for  the  answer,  and 
his  bloodshot  eyes  looked  wild  and  haggard  as  he  blinked 
at  his  companion. 

"  Well,  there  are,  in  my  opinion,  two  ways  to  arrange 
that  part  of  the  matter."  He  was  explaining  himself,  still 
with  perfect  calm,  as  though  considering  the  affairs  of  a 
mere  acquaintance.  "  Of  course,  in  the  first  place,  I  must 
send  back  to  Petersburg  the  private  car  lent  us  by  ...  by 
the  Grand-Duchess  Stepan.  This  done,  there  are,  as  I 
say,  two  paths  for  us  to  follow.  The  sanest  would  be  for 
me  to  accompany  you  to  the  Caucasus,  so  as  to  occupy 
the  six  weeks  we  had  meant — Madame  de  Coetmen  and 
myself — to  spend  in  Brittany;  while  she,  in  the  care  of 
her  maid  Rosalie — who  is  a  person  one  can  rely  upon 
absolutely — would  go  to  Majorca,  Minorca,  or  some  other 
rather  unfrequented  island.  When  you  are  ready  to  re- 
turn to  Russia,  I  will  go  and  fetch  Madame  de  Coetmen 
and  bring  her  home,  after  arranging  some  sort  of  tem- 
porary modus  vivendi." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Serge,  half-rousing 
himself.  "Even  if  I  cannot  marry  her,  you  intend  to 
live  under  one  roof,  as  brother  and  sister  might  do?" 

"Precisely.  And  for  the  second  time  to-day  I  see 
myself  obliged  to  point  out  that  a  De  Coetmen  and  his 
word  of  honor  are  so  closely  linked  together  as  to  be 
quite  inseparable.  But  listen  to  the  second  plan — per- 
haps it  may  be  more  suitable.  Go  back  to  the  Caucasus 
while  I  make  my  way  to  Brittany,  where  I  shall  stay 
until  you  let  me  know  that  you  have  reached  Petersburg. 

298 


SNOW-FIRE 

Then  I  shall  arrange  to  meet  Madame  de  Coetmen  and  her 
maid  at  Alexandrovo,  and  bring  her  home  under  the  same 
jubilating  circumstances.  You  cannot  help  seeing  that 
you  and  I  must  both  take  up  our  duties  in  Petersburg, 
and  go  on  appearing  to  be  the  devoted  friends  we  always 
were,  though,  of  course,  we  can  make  our  meetings  as 
rare  as  possible.  Later,  when  a  few  months  have  passed 
— one  forgets  soon  in  Russia — we  may  alter  all  this.  But 
meanwhile  I  swear  to  you  that  Madame  de  Coetmen  and 
myself  will  remain  complete  strangers  to  each  other." 

"Good  God!"  Serge  muttered,  "are  you  doing  this  for 
her  or  for  me?" 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  am  doing  it,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  simply  for  myself.  I  believe  you  had  the 
gratification  of  hearing  from  my  wife's  own  lips  this 
morning  that  she  never  loved  me,  and  had  married  me 
to  spite  and  punish  you.  Under  such  circumstances  it 
must  be  evident  to  you  that  I  would  not  so  much  as 
touch  her  finger-tips  were  we  to  remain  bound  in  the — 
excuse  my  smiling  —  holy  bonds  of  matrimony  for  fifty 
years  to  come!  Now  I  have  done,  so  pray  state  your 
opinion,  for  I  leave  the  decision  to  you." 

Heavily  Serge  rose  from  the  cushions  he  had  been  crush- 
ing, reached  for  the  brandy,  and  poured  himself  another 
glassful. 

"  You  are  ...  oh !  what's  the  use  of  talking,  since  I  can't 
express  what  I  feel  or  judge  what  I  must  do!"  He 
gulped  down  the  brandy,  and,  braced  by  the  momentary 
sting  of  it,  stood  before  Alain,  longing  to  hold  out  his 
hand  to  him,  but  not  daring  to  do  so.  "  What  a  fool  and 
a  beast  I  am  beside  you!"  he  burst  out,  in  shamed  ad- 
miration. "You — you  are — heaping  red-hot  coals  on 
more  than  one  head  ...  to  speak  with  my  customary 
originality!" 

299 


SNOW-FIRE 

Alain  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  began  to  roll  himself 
another  cigarette  from  a  silver  jar  of  Turkish  tobacco 
with  fingers  steady  as  steel.  "  I  am  probably  acting  like 
a  lunatic,  but  with  us  there  is  never  but  one  path  to 
take — and,"  he  added,  "somehow  or  other  it  is  never  an 
easy  one.  But  now  please  give  me  the  verdict,  for  I 
want  to  acquaint  Madame  de  Coetmen  as  speedily  as 
possible  with  the  name  and  delights  of  her  future  desti- 
nation." 

"  Yes,  of  course — of  course,"  Serge  said,  slowly.  Then 
with  a  groan  he  threw  himself  face  down  on  the  sofa. 
"  Madame  de  Coetmen — your  wife — God  curse  my  stupid- 
ity— my  ill-luck — and — and — yours!"  The  first  words 
seemed  wrenched  from  him  by  intolerable  pain,  but  his 
voice  gradually  dropped  to  a  mere  whisper  that  drawled 
away  into  silence,  and  he  lay  so  long  motionless  that 
Alain  at  last  went  over  to  his  side  in  sudden  anxiety. 

"Asleep!"  he  said,  half  aloud;  and  there  was  more 
kindliness  than  contempt  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  at  the 
fallen  young  Colossus,  for  even  now  he  could  not  forget 
that  this  man  and  he  had  been  as  brothers  indeed 
together. 

"Foam,  all  foam!"  he  muttered.  And  throwing  a  rug 
over  the  prostrate  form,  he  locked  the  door  upon  it  and 
sought  Sacha's  room. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

You  know  me  not;  then,  though  I  do  not  know 
Myself,  I'll  deal  you  yet  another  blow. 

M.  M. 

His  knock  was  answered  by  Rosalie,  who,  trim  and 
smart  as  ever,  but  with  a  face  changed  by  the  last  days 
to  that  of  a  woman  ten  years  her  elder,  curtsied  to  the 
ground  before  him,  and  silently  drew  back  to  let  him  pass. 

In  the  embrasure  of  one  of  the  balcony  windows,  Sacha, 
seated  on  a  pile  of  cushions,  was  clasping  a  circlet  of 
uncut  rubies  about  her  slender  wrist,  and  the  first  thing 
Alain  noticed  was  that  the  "  Coetmen  emerald  "  had  disap- 
peared from  the  wonderful  collection  of  rings  she  had  the 
mania  to  wear  day  and  night.  Also  her  little  face — that 
face  he  loved  so  well — seemed  to  have  suddenly  thinned, 
and  was  very  pale,  though  not  in  the  least  agitated. 

" Have  you  come  to  read  me  my  sentence?"  she  asked, 
in  a  voice  reserved  to  the  point  of  such  iciness  that  it 
made  him  shiver  a  little  as  he  advanced  toward  her. 

Of  course  Rosalie  had  at  once  disappeared,  and  he 
bowed  low  before  the  slender  figure  in  its  biscuit-colored 
ribbed  velvet. 

"No,  I  merely  came,  as  is  my  first  duty,  to  tell  you 
what  has  been  judged  best  to  shield  you  from  any  possible 
breath  of  scandal." 

She  pointed  with  a  short  gesture  to  an  arm-chair,  but 
Alain  did  not  accept  the  invitation,  and  gazing  at  the 
Tuileries  Gardens,  she  drawled: 

301 


SNOW-FIRE 

"'Judged,'  I  presume,  by  the  recently  reunited  firm  of 
Coetmen  and  Urlansky?" 

"Exactly  —  reunited  temporarily,  and  for  one  object 
only — your  defence." 

For  a  second  Sacha's  lips  quivered  ever  so  slightly, 
and  her  eyes  hid  themselves  beneath  their  long  fringes, 
but  almost  immediately  she  began  once  more. 

"Oh!  call  it  whatever  you  like,  but  for  God's  sake 
don't  hover  about  me  like  an  avenging  angel!  Can't 
you  sit  down  and  sheathe  your  flaming  sword  ?"  She  gave 
a  short,  broken  laugh,  and  he  obeyed,  his  heart  full  of 
pity  and,  alas!  love — poor  fellow — for  his  was  of  that 
rare  and  admirable  sort  which,  try  as  one  may,  can  never 
be  uprooted. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  is  it  you  have  come  to  an- 
nounce with  so  gloomy  and  forbidding  a  visage?  Do 
you  covet  the  title  of  Chevalier  de  la  Triste  Figure  as  well 
as  your  old  one  of  le  Preux  Chevalier?" 

This  forced  banter  was  becoming  altogether  unbearable 
to  Alain,  and  he  began  to  speak  rapidly,  but  selecting 
his  words  with  a  care  that  excluded  the  possibility  of 
giving  her  any  unnecessary  pain.  Thus  he  placed  before 
her  the  perils  of  the  whole  situation,  in  terms  perfectly 
guarded  from  any  bitterness  or  reproach;  and  still  twirl- 
ing her  bracelet  around  and  around,  she  listened  without 
once  interrupting  him  or  showing  a  sign  of  impatience. 
At  the  word  Brittany,  however,  she  revolted  for  the  first 
time. 

"  No,  not  that !"  she  cried.  "  You  sha'n't  go  to  Brittany 
without  me!  I  won't  have  it!  I'll  stay  wherever  you 
think  best,  and  Serge- Andreitch  can  fly  back  to  the 
Caucasus,  or  the  devil  if  he  chooses,  but  you  must  not — 
shall  not — go  home  now!" 

Alain  stared  helplessly  at  her.  His  wholesome  prac- 

302 


SNOW-FIRE 

tical  mind,  unfortunately  for  him,  had  neither  the  scope 
nor  the  power  to  pierce  through  the  intricacies  of  a 
feminine  heart — else  much  might  yet  have  been  spared 
all  three.  He  saw  the  quick  wave  of  burning  color  rise 
to  her  face,  but  merely  asked  himself  what  maladdress  he 
could  have  committed  to  disturb  her  so  greatly,  and  in 
an  instant  one  more  chance  was  gone. 

"  Where  would  you  wish  me  to  stay,  then,  while  you  are 
in  Majorca,  since  Majorca  seems  to  please  you  best?"  he 
asked,  still  completely  bewildered. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  cried,  with  scarcely  concealed 
anger.  "How  can  I  tell?" 

"I  can!"  Alain  suddenly  exclaimed.  "I've  got  it!  I'll 
go  back  to  the  Atlas.  I  made  a  few  friends  there  among 
the  native  chiefs,  and  they  will  at  least  give  me  some 
good  hunting!" 

Sacha  dropped  both  her  discouraged  little  hands  into 
her  lap,  and  absorbed  herself  entirely  in  the  gay  pageant 
of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  scintillating  after  the  morning's 
shower  beneath  a  sun  which  transformed  everything  to 
gold  and  diamonds.  "Men  are  imbeciles,  all,"  she 
thought.  And  at  last,  in  a  sort  of  lifeless  tone,  remarked: 
"  Are  you  sure  you  have  no  English  blood  in  your  veins  ? 
Your  ferocious  tendency  toward  killing  as  a  remedy  for 
all  evils  indicates  as  much."  Her  eyes  had  wandered 
back  to  the  ex- Imperial  Gardens,  and  seemed  to  follow 
the  antics  of  the  numerous  children  disporting  them- 
selves under  the  watchful  eyes  of  their  brightly  berib- 
boned  nurses;  and  after  a  little  she  recommenced :  "  Pray 
tell  me  when  I  am  to  start  for  Majorca,  there  to  await 
the  summons  of  my  lord?" 

"Sacha,"  Alain  quickly  reproved,  "you  must  not — 
you  really  must  not — say  such  things.  You  speak  as  if 
you  were  a  martyr.  You  are  nothing  of  the  sort.  To 

3°3 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

tell  the  plain  truth — not  counting  myself,  whom  I  would 
rather  not  mention — there  are  others  more  to  be  pitied 
than  you  at  the  present  moment." 

"Serge  Urlansky,  perhaps?"  she  suggested,  with  a 
touch  of  insolence  which  unconsciously  nettled  him. 

"Serge  Urlansky?  Yes,  maybe;  although  I  cannot 
help  wondering  what  pleasure  you  can  find  in  bringing 
up  his  name  so  often — but  not  he  alone  suffers,  I  assure 
you." 

"  Oh !  you  are  alluding  to  that  aged  iniquity,  I  suppose, 
that — well,  never  mind  what — whom  everybody  unites  to 
raise  upon  a  pedestal,  and  who,  after  all,  has  caused  all 
the  mischief.  Who  is  she,  by-the-way  ?  You  can  doubt- 
less tell  me  now!" 

"  A  woman  worthy  of  all  respect,  all  sympathy,  and  all 
devotion,"  Alain  replied,  shortly. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh! — a  virtue  of  the  first  water,  eh?"  she 
exclaimed,  her  little  even  teeth  clinched.  "Why  doesn't 
Count  Urlansky  go  back  to  her  and  plead  his  prettiest 
Mea  culpa  .  .  .  mea  maxima  culpa  at  her  feet  ?  How  very 
touching  it  would  be!  Tell  me  her  name,  do  ...  or  has 
she  perchance  lost  that  with  the  rest?" 

Alain  had  risen.  "  I  believe,"  he  said,  curtly,  for  even 
his  patience  was  beginning  to  give  way,  "  that  the  lunch- 
eon has  been  waiting  for  something  over  two  hours,  so 
it  has  some  claim  on  your  attention.  Unfortunately, 
I  cannot  join  you,  as  there  are  important  matters  to  at- 
tend to  at  once.  In  the  mean  while  Rosalie  will  look  after 
you."  And  before  she  could  utter  another  word,  he 
had  thrown  a  door  wide  and  called  the  maid,  who  came 
as  usual,  at  a  run. 

"  Rosalie,  please  look  very  carefully  after  Madame  la 
Marquise,  and  make  her  eat  something.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
Sacha,  I  am  going  to  engage  a  reliable  courier  for  you  at 

3°4 


SNOW-FIRE 

once.  Majorca  is  not  quite  the  place  to  send  you  to 
wholly  unprotected.  I  would  have  given  you  Gretzki, 
but  since  he  speaks  nothing  but  Russian,  that  would 
hardly  do." 

He  bowed  and  turned  to  go,  but  before  reaching  the 
door  he  called  back  over  his  shoulder:  "Rosalie,  I  will 
give  you  your  instructions  later.  Meanwhile  get  your 
lady's  trunks  and  smaller  luggage  in  order,  for  she  starts 
South  to-night." 

The  closing  of  the  door  behind  him  covered  her  "  C'est 
bien,  Monsieur  le  Marquis"  and  left  mistress  and  maid 
staring  resentfully  at  each  other. 

"Madame  la  Marquise,"  Rosalie  said,  without  lowering 
her  eyes,  "is  at  liberty  to  understand  that  after  this  I 
remain  in  her  service  solely  out  of  respect  for  and  devotion 
to  Monsieur  le  Marquis" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  think  or  feel,"  Sacha  snapped 
out.  "  I  am  taking  you  with  me  because  I  am  obliged 
to  do  so,  else  you  could  pack  up  and  go  at  once,  I  can 
assure  you,  you  little  traitor — biting  the  hand  that  has 
fed  you." 

For  a  long  minute  the  two  women  measured  each  other 
with  mutual  and  concentrated  contempt.  Then  all  of  a 
sudden  Sacha  ran  to  the  furious  little  maid,  who  was 
quivering  like  a  restive  horse,  and,  throwing  her  arms 
about  her  neck,  poured  forth  so  incoherent  a  flood  of 
misery,  explanation,  and  vituperation  that,  really  alarmed, 
Rosalie  laid  her  on  a  lounge  and  flew  for  sal  volatile, 
cologne,  and  such  other  time-honored  remedies  as  the 
circumstances  seemed  to  indicate. 

Meanwhile  Alain  had  his  work  cut  out  for  him,  for  to 
awaken  Serge,  make  him  take  a  cold  bath  and  dress  him- 
self again,  was,  even  with  the  help  of  Yegor — summoned 
from  below — no  easy  task.  Alternate  coaxing  and  curs- 

3°S 


SNOW-FIRE 

ing  achieved  it,  nevertheless,  and  finally  a  carriage  was 
summoned,  and  the  three  men  drove  to  another  hotel, 
whence,  after  a  little,  Alain  alone  emerged,  to  resume  his 
thorny  task. 

Not  once  did  the  obstinate  Breton  permit  himself  to 
think  of  the  bitterness  of  his  own  lot,  and  it  was  after 
five  o'clock  when,  becoming  all  at  once  aware  of  a  faint- 
ness  that  a  moment's  thought  attributed  to  mere  thirst 
and  hunger,  he  entered  a  restaurant,  and  sat  down  at  a 
table,  utterly  wearied  in  body  and  mind. 

"  Que  desire,  Monsieur?"  the  head-waiter  himself,  im- 
pressed by  the  distinguished  appearance  of  this  new 
arrival,  whispered  in  his  ear.  Receiving,  however,  no 
answer,  he  bent  lower  with  a  frightened  "Monsieur,  se 
sent-il  malade?"  that  roused  Alain  from  his  sudden  torpor. 

"Oh!  anything  you  like,"  he  mechanically  replied; 
"but  quick,  please.  Half  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  and  a 
chop — anything,  anything  at  all!" 

The  man  stepped  to  a  serving- table,  and  snatching  from 
it  a  bottle  of  cognac — brandy  seemed  bound  to  play  a 
rather  important  part  to-day — swiftly  poured  out  and 
presented  a  glass  of  the  golden  fluid. 

"  Buvez,  Monsieur;  ou  vous  allez  vous  evanouir!" 

As  Serge  had  done,  Alain  obediently  drank,  and  being 
thus  enabled  to  swallow  the  rest  of  his  simple  menu,  half 
an  hour  later  he  walked  out  of  the  place,  a  giant  re- 
freshed, accompanied  to  the  door  by  the  continuously 
bowing  functionary,  caressing  between  his  palms  two  gold 
pieces,  which  he  considered  he  had  well  earned  by  saving 
the  life  of  such  a  Grand-Seigneur. 

His  preparations  finally  completed,  he  returned  to 
the  hotel,  where  he  knew  he  would  find  Sacha  ready,  for 
he  had  sent  her  a  petit  bleu  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  ac- 
quainting her  with  what  was  to  be  done.  He  was  bring- 

306 


SNOW-FIRE 

ing  with  him  the  ideal  of  couriers,  a  worthy  ex-non- 
commissioned officer  of  Chasseurs  a  cheval,  highly  recom- 
mended, whose  face,  however,  was  the  best  of  certificates, 
and  who,  as  he  volunteered  to  explain,  had  acquired  the 
roving  habit  during  his  time  of  service  with  the  colors. 

Sacha  and  Rosalie  were  both  equipped  for  a  night 
journey  and  the  last  trunk-strap  securely  buckled  when 
Alain  entered.  He  was  carrying  a  sheaf  of  snowy  rose- 
buds and  a  large  box  of  bonbons  and  glace*  fruit,  which 
he  handed  to  Rosalie  without  a  word.  Then,  addressing 
his  wife,  he  explained  that  the  carriage  was  waiting  below, 
and  that  there  was  but  little  time  to  spare,  offering  her 
his  arm  as  he  spoke,  to  descend  the  stairs.  The  small 
trembling  hand  resting  on  his  sleeve  thrilled  him  to  the 
heart,  but  still  he  kept  intact  his  iron  self-control,  and 
handed  her  into  the  landau  as  he  might  have  the  Tsarina. 

"Get  in  now,  Rosalie,"  he  said;  and  as  soon  as  the 
nimble  Parisienne  had  seated  herself,  with  her  back  to 
the  horses,  he  took  his  place  beside  Sacha,  and  the 
equipage  started  at  a  rapid  trot. 

In  her  corner  the  wretched  little  bride  appeared  to 
have  completely  shrunk  within  her  furs,  whose  high  storm- 
collar  closed  in  around  her  heavily  veiled  face,  and  met 
the  ermine-bordered  hat  drooping  over  her  eyes.  Even 
her  hands  were  hidden  beneath  something  that,  to  his 
amazement,  Alain  recognized  as  his  rosebuds,  although 
they  were  more  or  less  masked  by  pale-green  tissue- 
paper.  Opposite,  Rosalie,  well-gloved  and  shod,  correct- 
ly clad  in  black  beneath  her  long,  tight-fitting  ulster,  her 
velvet  toque  untrimmed,  save  for  an  Alsatian  bow  of 
moire'  ribbon,  gazed  persistently  at  the  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated streets  of  her  beloved  city,  which  at  that  hour  was 
at  its  best.  Rapidly  the  dazzling  shop  fronts  of  jewellers, 
florists,  lace  merchants,  and  dealers  in  "Art  Treasures" — 


SNOW-FIRE 

as  the  huge  gold  letters  above  informed  the  public — 
glided  past,  for  the  driver  had  been  told  to  put  his  team 
to  its  best  pace ;  but  even  when  the  less  attractive  streets 
were  reached,  the  discreet  little  person  kept  her  eyes 
averted  from  the  motionless  couple  opposite. 

At  last  the  horses  slackened  on  a  sharpish  grade,  and 
beneath  the  blinding  electrics  of  the  Gare  de  Lyon  they 
came  to  a  stop.  To  hurry  the  two  women  across  the 
waiting-room  to  the  platform  was  for  Alain  the  affair  of 
a  moment,  since  the  courier  was  seeing  to  all  the  luggage, 
great  and  small;  and  as  they  passed  the  inner  book  and 
newspaper  stall,  he  paused  to  buy  all  the  new  novels  and 
illustrated  weeklies  he  could  fill  his  arms  with.  Then  as 
the  train  was  already  being  backed  a  quay,  with  a  soft 
drone  of  slowly  rising  steam,  he  hastened  them  to  their 
reserved  coach  with  a,  "  You'd  better  get  in  before  the 
last  rush.  I  have  a  few  recommendations  to  make  to 
the  guard  and  the  courier." 

"You  will  be  back  before  the  train  goes?"  came  sud- 
denly from  beneath  Sacha's  superposed  veils,  in  a  trem- 
bling little  voice  that  went  nearer  to  breaking  him  down 
than  anything  had  done  that  day. 

"Of  course  I  will,"  he  said,  almost  brusquely,  jumping 
down  the  steps,  after  installing  them  comfortably  on  the 
pearl-gray  cloth  cushions.  He  had  managed  before  leav- 
ing the  hotel  to  say  hastily  to  Rosalie  all  that  he  deemed 
necessary  for  her  to  know  about  the  trip,  and  so  had 
time  now  to  think  about  that  suddenly  pleading,  tremu- 
lous voice  he  had  just  heard. 

"  Good  God!"  he  murmured,  shouldering  his  way  across 
the  crowded  station,  "will  this  torture  never  end?  She 
is  softened  now,  and  perhaps  with  a  bit  of  boldness  and 
self-assertion  I  could  win  her  yet.  But,  bah!  in  an  hour 
or  two  she  would  be  pining  for  her  Chevalier-Garde,  and  I 

308 


SNOW-FIRE 

— what  would  I  do  then,  after  proving  myself  the  most 
despicable  of  cowardly  weaklings  ?  She  would,  to  begin 
with,  despise  me,  and  presumably  say  so,  in  one  of  her 
periodical  bursts  of  frankness.  No,  it  is  better  as  it  is! 
But  I  wish  I  could  smash  somebody's  face,  just  to  relieve 
my  feelings!  There,  now,  that  mustard-colored  person, 
with  the  Baedeker  under  his  arm  and  the  fore-and-aft 
cap,  for  instance!  He  has  a  truly  tempting  cast  of 
countenance.  Shall  I  do  it?" 

Fortunately  for  the  conspicuous  Cook's  tourist,  Alain 
at  that  very  minute  ran  straight  into  the  courier.  "  Sacr6 
nom  dun  imbecile!"  he  began;  but  seeing  who  it  was, 
added,  with  perfect  calm :  "  Oh,  it's  you,  Lustrac !  I  was 
looking  for  you.  Come  with  me,  so  that  we  may  finish 
all  arrangements  for  Madame  de  Coetmen's  comfort." 

And  they  went  at  the  double  to  the  station-master's 
office,  entering  and  re-entering  it  several  times,  and  trans- 
acting their  business  so  briskly,  down  to  the  heavy  tip- 
ping of  the  train-guard,  that  they  were  back  again  by 
the  steps  of  the  coupe1  reservG  in  good  time. 

Sacha  was  bending  forward,  looking  anxiously  for  her 
husband,  and  when  his  tall  form  and  handsome  face  sud- 
denly appeared  before  her,  she  continued  to  stare  at  him, 
as  if  photographing  his  every  feature  upon  her  mind. 
She  would  not  see  him  again  for  so  many  weeks!  He, 
however,  seemed  much  too  busy  to  notice  her  over-much, 
and  one  of  her  sudden  rages  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 
Stealthily  she  plunged  her  hand  into  an  inside  pocket, 
and  drew  from  it  a  small  square  package  tied  with  a 
white  favor.  "  I'll  give  them  to  him  now.  It  will  teach 
him  a  famous  lesson,"  she  told  herself,  fiercely  gritting 
her  little  teeth,  and  forthwith  called  him  to  her  with  an 
imperious  gesture  of  command,  no  doubt  attemptedly 
imitated  from  Daria,  the  inimitable. 

3°9 


SNOW-FIRE 

"What  is  it?"  Alain  asked,  taking  off  his  hat,  and 
climbing  into  the  car.  "Can  I  do  anything  more  for 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  ill-concealed  violence,  glan- 
cing at  Rosalie,  already  busy  with  preparations  for  the 
night,  opening  valises,  arranging  rugs  and  pillows,  tak- 
ing out  a  silver  reading-lamp,  and  hooking  it  to  the  thickly 
upholstered  back  of  the  seat.  "  Is  that  the  last  whistle?" 

"  I  think  it  is."  And  as  if  to  corroborate  his  assertion, 
the  station  employees  began  their  dreary  "En  voiture, 
Messieurs,  en  voiture!"  within  a  yard  of  them. 

"Then  take  this!"  she  cried,  thrusting  toward  him  the 
small  packet. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  drawing  back  instinctively. 

But  she  would  take  no  refusal.  "  It's  something  you 
— you  forgot  at  the  hotel.  It  is  yours." 

The  calls  to  the  jostling  crowd  of  passengers  to  please 
take  their  seats  were  becoming  deafening,  and  quite  be- 
wildered, indeed,  scarcely  realizing  what  she  was  doing, 
he  let  her  thrust  the  square  object  into  his  inside  breast- 
pocket— his  fur  coat  having  been  thrown  back  in  the 
haste  of  the  last  minutes.  He  bit  his  mustache  at  the 
touch  of  her  little  fingers,  and  perhaps  would  have  spoken 
even  then  had  not  the  guard  warned  him  that  the  train 
was  starting  instantly.  Had  he  known  that  she  was  con- 
trolling only  by  a  miracle  an  infinite  longing  to  say 
"Come  with  me!"  things  would  have  gone  differently; 
but,  unfortunately,  her  pride  held  to  the  last.  Then  just 
as  the  wheels  were  slowly  beginning  to  revolve,  he  took 
her  gloved  hand  in  his,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  landing 
on  the  platform  with  a  leap  that  nearly  upset  the  startled 
guard,  stood  motionless  and  bareheaded  until  the  train 
had  hoarsely  roared  itself  into  the  bleak  winter  night. 

Once  more  in  the  carriage,  and  after  bidding  the  coach- 

310 


SNOW-FIRE 

man  to  drive  like  the  devil  to  the  hotel  where  Serge  was 
awaiting  him,  he  leaned  back  where  she  had  leaned,  and 
suddenly  the  perfume  she  always  used  seemed  to  surround 
him  like  a  living  cloud.  With  a  smothered  oath  he  threw 
himself  roughly  into  the  other  corner,  and  then  all  at 
once  he  remembered  the  little  parcel  she  had  slipped  into 
his  pocket.  Slowly  he  drew  it  forth,  with  unsteady  fingers, 
and  removed  the  ribbon  with  the  greatest  precautions 
not  to  undo  or  crush  the  pretty  bow  that  she  had  tied. 
Inside  the  paper  was  a  blue  velvet  box.  He  touched  the 
tiny  spring,  and  the  bars  of  bright  light  flung  by  the 
street  lamps  into  the  landau  showed — nestling  in  white 
velvet  grooves — the  great  "Coetmen  emerald"  and  the 
plain  golden  circlet,  the  "bond  of  eternal  love  and  fealty" 
he  had  put  upon  her  finger  in  the  Imperial  Chapel.  Vio- 
lently, almost  brutally,  he  snapped  the  lid  shut  again. 

"And  I  was  going  to  yield!"  he  thought.  "They  are 
mine,  eh,  are  they?  Not  at  all,  Princess  Sacha!  One  is 
still  yours;  the  other  was  my  mother's,  and  I  should  never 
have  given  it  to  you." 

With  which  mental  comment  he  slowly,  very  slowly, 
reopened  the  ecrin,  and  softly,  repentantly  almost,  held 
his  lips  pressed  to  the  great  emerald  and  its  flashing  dia- 
monds for  a  long  moment;  then  resolutely  replacing  the 
mischievous  little  box  in  his  pocket  and  buttoning  his 
coat,  he  went  on  to  that  other  pleasant  errand — namely, 
the  shipping  back  of  Serge  to  the  Caucasus. 


CHAPTER  XX 

The  worm  will  turn?     He'd  have  no  need  to  squirm 
If  from  the  first  he  had  not  been  a  worm. 
And  hereunto  this  proverb  ye  may  henge: 
Worms  will  be  worms,  and  wreak  a  worm's  revenge. 

M.  M. 

SPRING  had  come,  and  the  broad,  snowy  mantle  of  the 
North  was  fast  becoming  threadbare  and  much  earth- 
stained  in  spots,  as  if  its  ermine  richness  were  giving 
place  to  the  white,  brown-patched  draperies  of  a  Baggara 
Arab.  Moreover,  on  that  particular  morning,  sloppy 
and  disagreeable  beyond  compare,  a  slow  rain  mixed  with 
fine  hail  had  begun  to  fall  at  the  very  minute  when  the 
sun  should  have  risen,  and  so  effectually  obscured  the 
atmosphere  that  as  the  Warsaw  Express  steamed  into 
Alexandrovo  Station — that  fateful  frontier  terminus  where 
so  many  dramas  have  been  enacted — the  cold  light  of 
the  huge  electrics  on  the  long  platform  seemed  to  cheer 
and  warm.  Sentries  paced  up  and  down  the  line  with 
heavy  steps  and  bayonetted  rifles  at  full  cock,  ready  for 
immediate  action  if  need  arose.  But  for  the  two  occu- 
pants of  a  special  car  very  near  the  glowing  locomotive 
there  lurked  no  danger  in  these  war-like  preparations; 
and  if  one  little  head  swathed  in  gauze  peeped  out  of  the 
carriage  window,  it  was  not  from  fear  of  what  might 
await  her  there,  but  to  see  if  "somebody"  had  faithfully 
kept  his  appointment. 

Before  the  train  came  to  a  full  stop,  however,  her 

312 


SNOW-FIRE 

doubts  were  set  at  rest  by  the  appearance  of  a  tall 
officer  wearing  the  undress  uniform  of  the  Hussars  of 
Grodno,  who  outstripped  the  guard  on  his  way  to  open 
the  private  compartment,  and  himself  released  from 
durance  Sacha  and  Rosalie. 

He  knew  that  more  than  an  hour  would  elapse  before 
the  other  travellers  had  been  questioned,  examined,  or 
searched — for  there  are  many  who  fail  to  pass  this  well- 
defended  gateway  of  the  Tsar's  dominions  —  and  he 
therefore  had  caused  a  small  apartment,  distant  from  the 
noisy  buffet,  to  be  prepared,  so  as  to  make  it  possible 
for  breakfast  to  be  eaten  in  peace.  Offering  his  arm  to 
Sacha,  and  ordering  the  excellent  Lustrac  to  pilot  Rosalie, 
he  succeeded  in  sparing  them  any  contact  with  the  dingy 
custom-house  officers,  who  in  their  doubtfully  white 
trousers,  high  boots,  green  tunics,  and  green  flat  caps, 
were  already  locking  the  doors  of  all  the  corridor  carriages, 
and  penning  the  voyagers  in  with  the  baggage  until 
such  time  as,  their  possessions  having  been  roughly  ex- 
amined and  ruthlessly  tumbled  about,  they  would  be 
permitted  to  enter  the  refreshment-rooms — which,  to  tell 
the  truth,  are  by  no  means  bad.  Russian  officers,  especial- 
ly titled  ones,  and  their  families,  are  naturally  exempt 
from  such  ignominious  treatment,  and  Alain's  small 
party — all  excepting  Lustrac,  of  course,  who  had  at  once 
to  go  and  interview  the  highest  authorities  present,  so 
as  to  spare  the  touch  of  ill-bred  ringers  to  Sacha's  dainty 
robes  and  laces — were  bowed  and  rebowed,  and  in  fact 
quite  overbowed,  into  the  aforesaid  room,  where  the 
ruddiness  of  a  generous  fire  showed  between  the  half- 
open  brass  doors  of  the  gigantic  and  home-like  porcelain 
stove,  and  a  basket  overflowing  with  enormous  Russian 
violets  filled  the  middle  of  the  well-set  table. 

"Oh,  but  this  is  charming!"  Sacha  exclaimed,  emerg- 


SNOW-FIRE 

ing  from  her  gauze  scarves,  and  letting  her  coat  fall  into 
Rosalie's  arms.  "  It  takes  you,  Alain,  to  think  of  creat- 
ing so  welcoming  a  nook  in  this  dreadful  Alexandra vo." 
She  seemed,  at  first  glance,  to  have  grown  taller  during 
her  absence,  but  he  soon  realized  that  she  had  merely 
become  yet  more  svelte,  also  the  pretty  pink  color  had 
vanished  from  her  slightly  thinner  cheeks,  which  made 
her  look  like  one  of  her  favorite  white  roses.  She  ap- 
peared, nevertheless,  to  intend  resuming  the  bonne  cama- 
raderie of  former  days — before  their  engagement — and  he 
promptly  responded  to  the  lead  she  was  giving  him. 

" I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  he  gayly  replied,  "because,  after 
so  long  a  journey,  it  is  really  painful  to  encounter  the 
gloomy  greeting  of  this  unfriendly  place." 

They  had  seated  themselves,  quite  naturally,  opposite 
each  other  at  the  table,  while  Rosalie  sipped  her  cup  of 
coffee  at  a  smaller  one  before  a  window  draped  with 
snug  red  curtains. 

"Ah,  yes,"  Sacha  said,  unfolding  her  napkin,  "it  is 
a  shocking  place,  especially  after  the  glorious  climate 
and  splendors  of  Majorca.  You  have  no  idea  how  beau- 
tiful it  is  there !  But,  by-the-way,  tell  me  how  you  your- 
self fared  among  your  good  friends  the  Kabyles?" 

The  long,  weary,  hopeless  days,  spent  in  the  saddle  or 
on  foot,  amid  those  solitudes,  made  Alain  pause  a  mo- 
ment before  replying;  but  when  he  did  so  his  voice  was 
cheerful  enough. 

"Oh,  rather  drearily,  to  tell  the  truth.  Even  you, 
who  have  seen  something  of  the  picturesqueness  and 
loneliness  out  there,  cannot  realize,  I  am  sure,  how  a 
solitary  wanderer  feels,  riding  up  and  down  those  gorges 
day  after  day." 

He  turned  in  his  chair,  and  addressing  Rosalie  in  his 
old  kindly  way,  asked  how  she  had  liked  the  Baleares. 

3J4 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Oh!  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  it  was  so  very  splendid, 
the  trees  and  the  flowers  and  the  torrents!  Thanks  to 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  for  remembering  me." 

"Were  there  many  tourists  there?"  Alain  asked  his 
wife.  "  Many  starers  ?" 

"No,  fortunately  not,"  she  smiled  back  at  him. 

"  It  was  best,  though,  to  have  gone  there  under  another 
name,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  because  there  were  one  or  two,  or 
perhaps  more  people — I  never  looked  to  see  how  many — 
who  no  doubt  would  have  accomplished  prodigies  of  valor 
to  become  acquainted  with  a  Marquise  .  .  .  poor  things! 
But  they  looked  upon  Madame  Kercardo,  tout  court,  as 
a  perfectly  negligible  quantity!"  She  laughed  at  his 
amused  face,  and  went  on :  "  How  sold  they  would  have 
been  had  they  known  that  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Coet- 
men — Comtesse  de  Kercardo — was  the  Madame  Kercardo, 
tout  court,  who  walked  about  the  least  visited  places,  or 
occasionally  drove  in  a  humble  hired  hack  with  her 
maid  to  spots  too  distant  to  be  reached  on  foot." 

Alain  was  looking  keenly  as  her,  but  as  his  back  was 
to  the  window,  and  the  hanging-lamp  above  the  table 
shrouded  in  one  of  those  wool-and-bead  atrocities  which 
Germans  and  Russians  call  "fringed  shades,"  she  scarcely 
saw  his  eyes. 

"Why  is  she  so  eager  to  declare  herself  the  bearer  of 
my  names?"  he  was  asking  himself,  and  just  then  the 
courier  entered  to  announce  that  the  train  was  about  to 
resume  its  weary  way,  and  Alain  rose  to  get  his  wife's 
coat  for  her. 

"May  I  take  these  exquisite  violets  with  me?"  she 
asked,  almost  in  her  childish  way  of  long  ago.  And  he 
thought,  bitterly:  "Oh,  well,  if  she  is  going  to  begin  this 
sort  of  thing  again,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me!" 

315 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Certainly  you  can  take  them;  they  were  meant  for 
you,  basket  and  all,  of  course,"  he  lightly  answered. 

"Basket  and  all?  How  delicious!  And  it  really  is  a 
lovely  basket,  too.  Where  iri  the  world  did  you  find 
such  a  little  gem  in  this  abhorrent  cavern  of  a  place?" 

Alain  was  presumably  too  busy  lifting  the  flowers  from 
the  table  to  hear.  In  any  case,  he  would  never  have  con- 
sented to  admit  that  it  had  come  just  as  it  stood  directly 
from  Nice,  having  been  telegraphed  for  by  himself;  and 
they  passed  out  to  their  train  without  her  obtaining  an 

answer  to  her  question. 

It          $          $          9       .   $          4         •£          £ 

The  plan  arranged  at  Paris  under  such  maddening 
circumstances  was  working  with  a  smoothness  and  ease 
which  none  of  the  three  parties  to  it  could  have  dared  to 
expect.  Serge  Urlansky  had  obtained  his  recall,  and  was 
already  installed  in  Petersburg  when  the  De  Coetmens 
reached  the  Virianow  Palace,  and  as  Madame  Nazoumoff 
had  obligingly  absented  herself  therefrom,  leaving  behind 
her  a  letter  explaining  that  the  sudden  illness  of  her 
sister,  Princess  Kolenka,  demanded  her  presence  in  Mos- 
cow, the  brilliancy  of  the  reception  was  faultless  in  its 
smallest  details.  The  "livery"  ranged  on  each  step  of 
the  great  double  staircase  bore  silver  torches  aloft,  the 
whole  vast  building  was  filled  with  flowers,  and  the  ir- 
reproachable majordomo,  holding  his  ivory  wand  of 
office,  backed  in  the  most  approved  fashion  before  his 
master  and  mistress  to  the  very  threshold  of  their  private 
apartments. 

This  suite  had  been  that  occupied  by  Sacha  during  her 
former  elderly  weddedness,  and  was  accordingly  exceed- 
ing decorous,  for  two  little  salons  and  a  large  library 
separated  the  bedrooms.  Many  secrets  of  disunion  may 
be  preserved  by  palace-dwellers  which  would  not  find 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  week's  concealment  under  less  pompous  circumstances. 
So  it  came  to  pass  that  life  at  least  began  for  those  two 
without  any  one,  save  Rosalie  and  the  honest  Gretzki, 
being  aware  that  they  never  remained  five  minutes  alone 
together  during  the  twenty-four  hours  of  the  day  and 
night.  When  they  did  meet,  or  were  forced  to  go  out 
together,  their  attitude  was  so  correct  that  not  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  could  be  cast  upon  their  conjugal 
felicity  by  the  most  malevolent  minds  of  St.  Petersburg 
society — which  means  more  than  might  appear  at  first 
sight — while  the  few  dinners  and  soirees  they  gave  were 
the  nearest  approach  to  perfection  the  "  Queen  City  of 
the  Marshes"  had  ever  witnessed. 

Daria  coolly  continued  to  have  the  young  couple  under 
her  immediate  patronage,  and  was  often  with  Sacha;  but 
she,  clearer-sighted  than  the  rest,  instinctively  felt  that 
there  was  something  terribly  amiss  between  them,  though 
probe  as  she  would  for  the  hidden  wound  she  never 
found  it. 

She  had  not  yet  met  Serge  alone.  The  day  he  had 
called  to  make  his  obligatory  visit  she  had  been  out, 
and  he  had  merely  written  down  his  name,  and  when  her 
horses  passed  his  on  the  Newsky  or  elsewhere  the  occasion 
was  invariably  too  public  for  the  exchange  of  more  than 
the  most  ordinary  salutations.  Moreover,  Daria  had  no 
wish  to  hasten  the  first  meeting.  First  of  all,  she  was 
infinitely  too  proud  to  summon  him  by  one  of  the  brief 
notes  she  used  to  send  him  in  the  past,  and  underhand 
methods  failed  to  appeal  to  her.  Secondly,  she  must 
respect  her  quasi-understanding  with  her  Imperial 
nephew  to  the  extent  of  dealing  with  additional  prudence. 
Meanwhile  she  occupied  herself  by  watching  the  Coetmen 
menage  very  keenly,  but  so  unobtrusively  that  neither 
Sacha  nor  Alain  noticed  it;  and  the  more  she  watched 

317 


SNOW-FIRE 

the  more  she  became  convinced — and  certainly  her  gift 
of  divination  served  her  well — that  the  key  to  the  strange 
presentiments  and  mental  oppression  that  tormented 
her  lay  at  no  great  distance  from  the  Virianow  Palace. 

One  afternoon  in  the  early  spring — the  early  spring  is 
everywhere  an  awesome  thing  to  behold  in  Russia,  with 
its  torrents  of  rainy  mud  and  muddy  rain,  deluging  town 
and  country  alike — she  was  profiting  by  a  momentary 
show  of  sallow  sunshine  to  attend  to  some  errands  which 
she  never  entrusted  even  to  her  ladies-in-waiting — is  it 
necessary  to  add  that  they  were  of  a  charitable  kind? — 
when  during  the  drive  home  she  saw  Alain  and  Serge 
walking  along  the  indifferently  swept  wooden  sidewalk. 
While  yet  quite  distant,  her  eyes  being  of  the  keenest, 
she  noticed  that  they  looked  more  like  two  troopers  doing 
pack-drill  than  two  intimate  friends  taking  a  pleasurable 
outing.  As  her  carriage  drew  nearer — the  horses  were 
kept  at  a  slow  pace  to  avoid  too  much  disturbance  of  the 
creamy  mud  their  hoofs  sent  splashing  in  every  direction 
— she  noticed  something  more,  and  it  was  that  they  were 
evidently  not  speaking  to  each  other,  and  that  both 
young  faces  bore  an  equal  expression  of  heaviness  and 
gloom.  As  soon,  however,  as  they  recognized  her  liveries, 
they  suddenly  began  to  smile  and  gesticulate,  like  men 
engaged  in  amicable  and  lively  debate.  Of  course,  when 
they  came  abreast  of  the  carriage,  they  faced  round  and 
stood  at  the  salute  until,  with  a  smile  and  an  inclination 
of  the  head,  she  had  passed  graciously  by. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  she  mused,  feeling  an  alarm 
that  seemed  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  apparent  slight- 
ness  of  the  incident.  Why  this  was  so  she  could  not  have 
told  exactly;  but  her  clever,  active  brain  was  at  work 
upon  the  problem  now,  and  was  not  likely  to  rest  until 
a  solution  was  reached.  "Who  could  enlighten  me?" 


SNOW-FIRE 

she  puzzled.  "Ydgor,  without  a  doubt;  but  there's 
something  so  degrading  about  questioning  a  servant — 
even  one  like  Ydgor." 

At  that  moment  they  were  almost  in  front  of  the 
fashionable  French  patisserie  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  her 
coachman,  well  used  to  see  her  stop  there  every  afternoon 
when  late  for  her  own  "five  o'clock,"  slackened  the 
pace  of  his  magnificent  steppers.  Led  by  some  strange 
intuition,  she  pulled  the  check-strap.  The  brougham 
came  to  a  stand,  the  footman  opened  the  door,  and  in 
another  moment  she  had  walked  into  the  shop,  which, 
with  its  white  marble  walls  interspersed  with  immense 
mirrors,  its  many  gilded  consoles  loaded  down  with 
dainties,  and  its  welcoming  little  tables,  seemed  a  palace 
moulded  of  cream  and  honey  for  the  delectation  of  femi- 
nine gormandizers.  There  was  in  one  corner  a  little  table 
she  particularly  liked  and  invariably  occupied  whenever 
she  came  there,  and  she  mechanically  moved  toward  it, 
responding  quite  as  mechanically  to  the  numerous  bows 
and  curtseys  that  punctuated  her  way  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  long  room,  already  glittering  with  lights. 

One  person  only  took  no  cognizance  of  her  entrance, 
though  he  might  have  been  excused,  since  his  broad  back 
was  turned  squarely  upon  the  entrance  door,  had  it  not 
been  that  he  was  facing  the  clearness  of  a  tall  mirror, 
and  was  looking  full  into  its  reflecting  depths.  He  prob- 
ably knew  also  that  the  table  he  occupied  was  generally 
reserved  for  Grand- Duchess  Stepan,  and  that  by  com- 
mon consent.  But  perhaps  from  a  feeling  of  curiosity  as 
to  what  she  might  do,  General  Mikael- Alexandra  vich 
Debeline  bent  over  the  generously  filled  plate  of  babas 
and  bouchtes  merveilkuses,  which  he  was  bolting  down 
with  the  assistance  of  glass  after  glass  of  sweet  old  Fronti- 
gnan.  It  was  only  when  the  frou-frou  of  her  dress  im- 

319 


SNOW-FIRE 

mediately  behind  him  could  no  longer  remain  unnoticed 
that  he  literally  jumped  to  his  feet,  so  confused  and 
alarmed  in  appearance — the  Frontignan  had  already 
turned  him  from  his  customary  ruddiness  to  absolutely 
violet  tints — that  Daria's  eyes  twinkled  mischievously 
through  her  chenille-spotted  veil. 

"Please  don't  agitate  yourself,"  she  smiled.  "May  I 
crave  your  hospitality  at  my  little  table?  You  see,  all 
the  others  are  occupied.  But  this  only  on  condition 
that  you  go  on  with  your — meal."  And  turning  to  the 
alarmed  maiden  in  black  silk  and  lace  apron,  who  had 
hurried  after  her  to  express,  in  fluttering  French,  the 
regrets  of  the  firm  for  .  .  .  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  she  ordered  a 
cup  of  chocolate  and  some  biscuits  to  be  brought  at  once, 
and  without  more  ado  sat  down  opposite  the  still  pro- 
fusely apologetic  General-Officer. 

"  I  am  unworthy  of  this  honor.  Permit  me  to  retire, 
Imperial  Highness;  it  is  really  not  meet  that  you  should 
stoop  so  low  as  to  actually  sit  here  familiarly  with  me  in 
full  view  of  our  best  beau  monde!" 

"  I  am,"  Daria  calmly  stated,  removing  one  of  her 
gloves,  "  the  best  judge,  I  believe,  of  how  low  I  can  stoop 
without  getting  social  lumbago ;  so  pray  resume  your  chair 
and  amuse  me  by  telling  me  Petersburg's  latest  gossip." 

She  was  already  pouring  the  frothy  chocolate  from  the 
delicately  painted  little  chocolatiere,  but  caught,  never- 
theless, the  furious  look  his  eyes  covertly  flashed  at  her. 

"  Your  Imperial  Highness  believes  me  to  be  a  veritable 
walking  chronique  scandakuse,  I  fear." 

"  Why  in  the  world  should  you  fear  it  ?"  she  said,  breaking 
one  of  the  narrow  pistachio-flavored  biscuits  for  which 
the  establishment  was  justly  famous.  "Your  —  ah  — 
clever  tongue  has  served  you  more  than  one  good  turn 
during  a  number  of  years,  if  I  am  not  mistaken."  ("  If  I 

320 


SNOW-FIRE 

can  nag  and  exasperate  him  sufficiently,  there's  nothing 
I  can't  find  out,"  she  thought,  not  without  her  usual 
deep  knowledge  of  the  inhuman  heart.) 

"Your  Imperial  Highness  overwhelms  me,"  the  already 
exasperated  General  said,  with  a  courtier's  bow.  "  What 
small  bits  of  news  I  may  gather  here  and  there  I  am  al- 
ways happy  to  communicate,  so  long  as  it  is  possible  to 
do  so  in  a  gentlemanly  and,  I  may  add,  a  wholly  friendly 
spirit." 

Daria  raised  still  smiling  eyes  to  his.  There  was  doubtless 
a  hint  of  mockery  in  them  that  stung  the  parvenu  to  just 
the  right  degree  of  combativeness,  for  after  lingering 
lovingly  for  a  while  over  a  ridiculous  accident  involving 
a  foreign  Prince  of  the  Blood  and  a  well-known  Russian 
great  lady,  and  giving  a  few  telling  tokens  of  his  "  friendly 
spirit,"  he  suddenly  turned  his  malice  elsewhere  by  a 
masterly  tete-b-queue. 

"The  most  amusing  bit  of  gossip  to  be  found  in  my 
bag  of  tricks  —  poor  word  -  prestidigitator  that  I  am  — 
Your  Imperial  Highness  already  knows,  I  feel  certain." 

"  Give  me  a  sample  of  it,  so  that  I  can  recognize  its 
color  without  any  risk  of  being  compromised,"  she  an- 
swered, glancing  indifferently  past  him  at  the  rapidly 
emptying  shop. 

"Unfortunately  it  concerns  some  particular  proteges 
of  yours,  Madame,  and  this  makes  me  hesitate  to  tell  you 
the  full  extent  of  the  joke." 

"  Don't  hesitate  a  second,  my  good  Mikael-Alexan- 
drovich.  These  protege's  of  mine,  whoever  they  be,  might 
as  well  serve  to  amuse  me  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  for 
when  you  have  [stumbled  on  somebody's  hornet's  nest,  it 
can  hardly  be  any  longer  considered  a  private  affair." 

"Is  she  merely  pumping  me  for  fun,"  Debeline  pon- 
dered, "or  does  she  guess  who  I  mean?" 

321 


SNOW-FIRE 

But  Daria  did  not  fancy  being  kept  waiting,  and  her 
"Go  on,  won't  you,  General?"  showed  him  the  wisdom 
of  obeying  instantly. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  he  hastily  began,  spinning 
his  thread  of  scandal  like  a  venomous  spider,  "  it  concerns 
mostly  that  lovely  little  Marquise  de  Coetmen.  ..." 

Here  Daria's  smile  became  so  significant  that  he  paused 
uneasily.  "  I  know  what  your  Imperial  Highness  thinks. 
I  myself  was  once  one  of  our  then  little  Princess's  most 
ardent  swains,  which  should  of  course  close  my  mouth 
...  but  ..  ." 

"You!"  Daria  exclaimed.  "You  a  suitor  for  her  hand 
.  .  .  absurd!  But  what  ails  this  extraordinarily  lucky 
child,  who  has  every  possible  facility  for  cloudless  happi- 
ness?" 

Goaded  by  her  tone,  he  shot  another  almost  menacing 
glance  from  beneath  his  heavy  brows.  "  Excepting  love, 
Madame — excepting  love !  The  wicked  little  god  is  absent 
from  this  young  couple's  hearth,  and,  if  things  continue 
as  they  are,  his  empty  place  may  be  stolen  by  another 
and  far  less  pleasing  deity!" 

Daria's  shoulders  went  quickly  up  until  they  almost 
touched  the  great  pearls  in  her  little  ears  as  she  stared 
at  her  companion. 

f.  "Curiously  enough,"  she  said,  without  a  trace  of  im- 
patience, "no  later  than  last  night  they  dined  with  me, 
and  they  really  could  not  have  played  the  part  of  adoring 
turtle-doves  better  than  they  did.  I  assure  you  this 
cannot  have  been  acting." 

The  General  gave  a  more  martial  twist  to  his  mustache, 
and  shook  his  head.  "  There  are  some — quite  a  few,  in 
fact — who  will  have  it  that  De  Coetmen  was  not  the  only 
man  to  love  deeply — and  not  absurdly — the  fascinating 
Sacha,  and  that  her  heart  belonged  then  and  still  belongs 

322 


SNOW-FIRE 

to  some  one  who  in  a  way  resembles  De  Coetmen,  but 
only  as  a  high-bred  Slav  can  ever  resemble  a  high-bred 
Celt;  that  is,  in  coloring,  height,  and  bearing." 

"Why  did  she  not  marry  this  Muscovite  paragon — 
provided  he  was  not  already  married?"  Dana  inquired, 
fixing  him  with  mercilessly  scrutinizing  eyes. 

"Ah,  that's  just  it!  If  he  had  had  more  courage,  and 
she  a  knowledge  of  the  real  state  of  affairs,  she  would  doubt- 
less have  done  so — and  wo.uld  probably  be  regretting  it 
now,  just  as  bitterly  as  she  does  her  union  with  Alain  de 
Coetmen.  She  is  a  femme  a  coups-de-tete,  and  the  fun- 
niest part  of  it  all  is  that" — here  he  allowed  himself  a 
questionable  chuckle  —  "poor  pretty  Madame  Sacha  is 
to-day  as  surprisingly  and  completely  —  respected  shall 
we  say? — as  she  was  when  her  latest  husband  put  the 
wedding-ring  upon  her  finger  before  your  Imperial  High- 
ness's  eyes." 

This  last  sally,  to  its  perpetrator's  disgust,  was  greeted 
by  a  merry  burst  of  laughter.  "  I  wish  I  knew  how  you 
know  that!"  she  said  at  last,  controlling  her  mirth. 
"But  even  the  greatest  of  artists  overreach  themselves 
sometimes!  Remember,  if  you  feel  tempted  to  repeat 
that  portion  of  your  story,  that  all  Petersburg  knew 
months  ago  about  Alain's  being  head  over  ears  in  love 
with  his  present  wife;  and  as  to  her —  But  mean  while  it 
is  getting  horribly  late,  and  I  must  really  run  away, 
tempting  as  further  revelations  may  seem."  And  she 
began  to  draw  her  glove  over  her  glittering  rings. 

"I  am  distressed,  indeed,  to  find  Your  Imperial  High- 
ness in  so  unbelieving  a  mood — if  I  may  with  profoundest 
respect  use  such  an  expression.  Believe  me,  Madame, 
my  only  aim  in  yielding  to  your  wishes  awhile  ago  was 
to  interest  you  in  a  matter  that  may  one  of  these  days 
involve  many  high  people  in  a  nasty  and  useless  scandal. 
22  323 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  mutual  attitude  of  young  De  Coetmen  and  his  ex- 
rival — it's  best  to  say  ex-rival,  is  it  not? — is  beginning 
to  cause  much  astonishment.  They  were  once  such  un- 
commonly intimate  friends,  you  see,  but  now  they  seem 
to  show  themselves  together  in  public  occasionally  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  throwing  dust  in  people's  eyes — at  least, 
that  is  the  pretty  general  opinion  among  close  observers. 
Moreover,  the  ex-everything — no  names  mentioned — has 
never  once  passed  the  lordly  bronze  portals  of  the  Palace 
Virianow  since  the  bride  and  groom's  return." 

"Dear!  dear!  how  typically  human!  Here,  according 
to  you,  are  three  people  whose  most  vital  interest  is  to 
conceal  a  secret,  and  naturally  they  commit  every  overt 
stupidity  they  can  possibly  think  of.  What  fools  we 
mortals  be!  But  now,  seriously,  good-bye  for  the  pres- 
ent. Your  eloquence  is  dangerous — positively  dangerous, 
if  not  entirely  convincing — and  such  is  the  timidity  of 
my  nature  that  I  always  avoid  risks  of  any  sort.  Still, 
when  you  write  your  memoirs — which  cannot  fail  to 
happen — I  would  entitle  one  chapter  at  least  'Spying 
Among  the  Great;  or,  Court  Intrigues  Revealed  by  One 
Who  Was  In  a  Position  Always  to  Know  the  Worst.'  It 
will  make  a  great  hit,  believe  me." 

She  rose  abruptly,  threatened  him  gayly  with  an  up- 
raised forefinger,  and,  nodding  a  careless  adieu,  glided  so 
swiftly  from  the  Confiserie  that  he  totally  forgot  to  ac- 
company her  to  her  carriage. 

"  Home,  and  go  fast!"  she  told  the  coachman,  in  a  tone 
that  meant,  "  Kill  your  horses,  but  get  there  soon !"  And 
consequently  in  a  few  minutes  she  was  at  her  own  portals, 
her  bays  in  a  lather  from  head  to  hoof,  and  her  carriage 
and  men  covered  with  a  coating  of  mud.  Swiftly,  almost 
at  a  run,  she  ascended  the  great  staircase  between  the 
double  hedges  of  mimosa  that  made  her  think  uncon- 

324 


SNOW-FIRE 

sciously  of  Bel-Abbes,  then  darted  into  her  study,  and 
without  removing  either  hat  or  coat,  sat  down  at  the 
little  ebony  desk  supporting  her  private  telephone. 

Ye"gor  responded  to  the  call  in  a  low,  trembling  voice, 
which  in  itself  would  have  been  sufficient  to  warn  Daria 
that  all  was  not  going  well,  and  she  therefore  spoke  in 
her  kindest  manner  to  reassure  the  old  servitor. 

"Not  at  home?  Well,  it  can't  be  helped!"  she  replied 
to  his  only  too  evident  anxiety.  "  But  will  you  tell  your 
master,  Yegor,  that  I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  him  the 
other  day  when  he  called,  and  that  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  him  this  evening  at  ten  o'clock  sharp?  How  have 
you  enjoyed  your  travels,  Ye"gor?" 

She  could  see  in  her  mind's  eye  the  tall,  gray-haired 
form  bending  over  the  telephone,  trembling  with  alarm 
and  emotion,  and  her  eyes  softened  singularly  as  she 
heard  his  frightened  assurance  that  the  countries  he  had 
visited  were  wonderful,  and  he  humbly  thanked  Her  Im- 
perial Highness  for  her  condescension  and  goodness  to 
him,  Y£gor — the  whole  delivered  in  accents  which  would 
have  served  admirably  to  announce  that  he  had  recently 
been  imprisoned  in  a  torture-chamber,  during  which  time 
his  estates  had  been  devastated  and  his  family  put  to 
the  sword! 

When  she  rose  again  her  face  had  a  look  so  grim  that 
any  observer  would  certainly  have  studiously  shunned 
her  neighborhood,  and  for  a  long  time  she  walked  up  and 
down  the  study  before  daring  to  summon  her  maid  or 
pass  into  her  dressing-room.  She  did  not  want  every- 
body to  know  that  she  was  what  is  commonly  called 
thoroughly  out  of  temper — surely  a  very  faulty  expression 
in  this  case,  since  she  had  plenty  of  it,  and  to  spare. 

"I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "whether  he  will  dare  to 
disobey  that  summons.  If  he  does,  I'll  go  to  his  apart- 

3*5 


SNOW-FIRE 

ments,  and  he  will  long  remember  the  occasion.  I  can 
promise  him  that  at  least!" 

She  was  to  dine  out  that  evening,  but  another  appeal 
to  the  telephone  freed  her  from  the  obligation,  and  since 
the  Grand-Duke  and  his  sons  were  away  from  Peters- 
burg, she  anticipated  no  interruption.  Therefore,  having 
by  now  conquered  all  inclination  to  throw  things  around 
and  demolish  a  few  thousand  rubles'  worth  of  precious 
porcelain  and  enamels,  she  went  to  get  herself  attired 
in  one  of  the  absolutely  unadorned  white  velvet  fourreaux 
she  liked  best — without  a  single  jewel,  and  no  flowers, 
save  one  little  branchlet  of  white  lilac,  thrust  at  the  last 
moment  in  the  top  of  her  corsage  near  fche  left  arm.  She 
dined  hastily,  scarcely  touching  anything,  and  then  es- 
tablished herself  in  the  smallest  salon  of  the  enfilade  on 
the  first  floor  to  wait  for  Serge. 

Certainly,  had  she  planned  with  profoundest  care  both 
her  toilet  and  her  environment,  she  could  not  have  ap- 
peared more  to  her  personal  advantage.  The  shimmer- 
ing velvet — sculptured  upon  her,  as  it  seemed — from  which 
rose  shoulders  and  arms  that  had  few  rivals,  and  the 
casque  of  braids  crowning  her  smooth  forehead,  pro- 
duced against  the  hangings  and  panelling  of  the  room — a 
curious  Turkish  silk  of  a  faded  rose-tint  interwoven  with 
a  mesh  of  dull  silver  threads — an  effect  difficult  to  sur- 
pass. There  were  few  lamps,  but  not  so  heavily  veiled 
as  to  obscure  a  tableau  backed  and  surrounded  by  quan- 
tities of  flowers  set  down  "a  little  everywhere,"  as  the 
French  say,  and  filling  the  air  with  delicate  fragrance. 

Seated  on  a  low  ottoman  with  an  open  book  on  her 
lap,  she  looked  the  very  embodiment  of  peace  and  re- 
pose, and  clever  would  he  have  been  who  could  have 
divined  that  she  really  was  in  a  towering  fury.  "If  he 
fails  me  to-night!"  she  murmured,  for  the  hundredth 

326 


SNOW-FIRE 

time.  And  just  then  her  groom-of-the-chambers  ap- 
peared, and  asked  whether  Her  Imperial  Highness  deigned 
to  receive  His  Excellency  Count  Urlansky?  Yes,  she 
would  receive  His  Excellency!  Pray  show  him  up,  and 
then  bring  tea.  Her  voice  was  under  perfect  control. 
In  a  minute  the  portieres  were  drawn  back  to  the  sonorous 
announcement : 

"His  Excellency  Count  Urlansky!"  And  Serge  en- 
tered, attired  in  full  uniform  as  if  by  "official"  command, 
and  by  no  means  the  same  care-free  boy  who  had  spent 
so  many  happy  evenings  there  before. 

For  a  second,  perhaps,  Daria  gazed  at  him  in  surprise; 
then  half-rising  she  extended  her  hand  as  usual.  "  After 
many  days,"  she  said,  gently,  perfectly  aware  that  the 
bent  blond  head  was  filled  with  but  one  thought — that 
of  blinding  her,  if  possible,  to  the  truth,  past  and  present. 

"  Sit  down,  Serge,  and  throw  your  helmet  on  the  nearest 
chair.  I  told  them  to  bring  us  tea  at  once,"  she  explained. 
"It  is  so  difficult  to  chat  with  servants  hovering  about." 

Silently  the  young  guardsman  obeyed.  He  was,  she 
perceived,  watching  desperately  for  a  word,  an  action 
that  might  possibly  hint  to  him  how  much  she  knew — 
how  much  she  was  determined  to  learn  yet.  Yegor's 
report  to  the  effect  that  she  had  spoken  most  graciously 
to  himself  over  the  telephone  had  partly  reassured  him, 
but  he  knew  Daria  too  well  not  to  be  afraid  still — abjectly 
afraid,  of  what  might  follow. 

The  appearance  of  the  tea-equipage  gave  him  a  mo- 
ment's respite,  which  he  was  too  nervous  to  put  to  any 
use,  so  unevenly  was  his  heart  galloping  under  his  shining 
corselet;  and  when  the  servants  had  noiselessly  retired,  it 
took  much  more  resolution  to  cross  over  to  the  arm- 
chair she  indicated  than  it  would  have  required  to  gallop 
over  a  battle-field  ploughed  by  bullets. 

327 


SNOW-FIRE 

She  spared  him,  fortunately,  the  horrible  difficulty  of 
beginning  the  conversation,  for,  bending  toward  him,  she 
smilingly  asked,  "Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  again, 
Serge?"  And  yet  the  friendliness  of  her  tone  froze  his 
very  marrow.  Was  it  likely  that  Daria  would  thus 
accept  his  recent  attitude? 

"Why  didn't  you  come  sooner,  though?"  she  resumed, 
divining  the  difficulty  in  which  he  found  himself.  "It 
must  have  been  so  -strange  for  you  to  be  in  Petersburg 
without  visiting  the  Palais-Stepan  ?  When  did  you  really 
arrive,  by  the  way?" 

"Oh,  Daria,"  he  implored,  "don't  be  unmerciful! 
I've  had  so  many  troubles  and  sorrows  since  I  saw  you 
last!  Please,  please  let  me  enjoy  this  first  instant  that  I 
see  you  again!"  He  had  slipped  from  his  chair,  and  was 
on  one  knee  at  her  feet,  his  blue  eyes  pleading  as  always 
whenever  she  had  found  fault  with  him  for  some  pecca- 
dillo or  other.  A  hot  shiver  ran  down  her  back  at  the 
sight  of  so  much  weakness. 

"If  you  were  in  pain  and  trouble,"  she  answered, 
gently  still,  "was  not  this  the  place  to  come  for  comfort 
and  consolation?  It  used  to  be." 

"Why  .  .  ."  he  stammered,  "didn't  you  send  for  me?" 

"I  am  not  a  witch,  to  divine  other  people's  plights. 
What  were  yours?" 

"I  thought  .  .  .  that  perhaps  .  .  .  you  were  .  .  .oh! 
hang  it  ...  you  might  be,  you  know!" 

"Tired  of  you?"  she  asked.  "But  you  know  very 
well  that  had  such  been  the  case  I  would  have  made  an 
avowal  so  humiliating  to  yourself,  personally,  and  with- 
out any  hesitation  unworthy  of  us  both  and  of  the  past. 
Can't  you  bring  forward  some  better  and  more  acceptable 
excuse?  Pull  yourself  together  and  try,  at  least!" 

Great  beads  of  perspiration  were  standing  on  his  fore- 

328 


SNOW-FIRE 

head,  and  she  noticed  this  too,  but  nevertheless  went  on 
in  the  same  equable  tone .  "  You  can  so  easily  find  one  to 
suit  a  woman  like  me — the  truth,  for  instance :  how  would 
that  do  for  once?" 

"A  woman  like  you  .  .  ."  he  whispered  through  his  dry 
lips.  "What  .  .  .  what  ...  do  you  mean,  Daria?" 

"Oh!  I'm  riddling  you  no  riddles.  When  I  say  'a 
woman  like  me'  I  mean  a  woman  who  has  been  many 
more  things  than  one  to  you — a  woman  who  you  know 
well  can  endure  a  blow  dealt  fairly  in  self-defence  and 
by  an  honest  hand,  but  not  a  coward's  stab  in  the  back?" 

("Does  she  know  all.  .  .  .  Does  she  know  all?"  The 
question  kept  hammering  in  his  head  with  unendurable 
persistency.) 

She  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  deep  chair  now,  her 
determined  little  chin  in  her  hand. 

"  Some  months  ago  I  gave  you  your  chance,"  she  recom- 
menced, slowly.  "  I  offered  frankly  to  release  you  from 
bonds  that  seemed  to  have  become  irksome,  and  with 
your  eyes  raised  straight  to  mine  as  they  are  now,  you 
refused  your  liberty  .  .  .  persuasively  enough  to  deceive 
even  me,  who,  I  think,  am  no  fool." 

"  It  was  immediately  afterward  that  you  sent  me  on  a 
fool's  errand  to  the  Caucasus!"  he  suddenly  blurted  out, 
rising  to  his  feet,  with  an  almost  angry  gesture.  "  Don't 
tell  me  it  wasn't  you!" 

"Why  should  I  deny  it?"  she  quietly  rejoined.  "Cer- 
tainly it  was  I.  Did  you  ever  see  me  shirk  responsibili- 
ties?" She  was  gazing  searchingly  up  at  him  with  in- 
scrutable eyes. 

"  My  God!  It  is  true,  then!  I  could  not  help  thinking 
it  all  along!"  he  gasped,  unconsciously  wiping  his  fore- 
head with  the  white  gloves  crumpled  in  his  left  hand. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied;  "  my  august  young  niece  had  stuffed 

329 


SNOW-FIRE 

her  poor  dear  husband's  head  with  extravagant  ideas  re- 
garding the  desirability  of  our  being  parted  altogether, 
and  I  humbly  judged  that  a  momentary  separation  might 
be  preferable.  Your  every  action,  moreover,  on  the  eve 
of  your  departure — during  the  masked  ball  here — was 
of  a  nature  to  encourage  me  in  the  thought  that  you 
would  have  agreed  with  me  had  you  known  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

Serge,  standing  before  her,  felt  a  tremor  run  from  head 
to  foot.  "My  actions  on  the  night  of  my  departure?" 
he  hoarsely  demanded.  "What  are  you  talking  about? 
For  God's  sake,  Daria,  tell  me  what  I  said  then  .  .  .  what 
I  did!" 

His  livid  face  and  wild  eyes  made  her  pause  a  second 
before  replying. 

"Don't  you,"  she  asked,  impatiently  —  "don't  you 
remember  the  pink  domino  .  .  .  the  embrasure  of  that 
window,  and  down  below  the  bells  of  the  sleigh  that  was 
presently  to  take  you  away  from  me,  and  afterward  the 
violets  that  came  every  morning  to  remind  me  of  you  ? — 
although  this  was  unnecessary,  for  I  think  of  you  every 
minute  of  my  weary  life.  Do  you  remember  nothing? 
Have  you  gone  completely  mad,  Serge?" 

With  a  groan  the  young  officer  flung  himself  crosswise 
on  his  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  as  if  to  hide 
his  shame.  But  where  was  the  use  now?  She  knew  all, 
and  read  the  innermost  thoughts  of  his  heart — his  for- 
getfulness  of  the  given  word,  his  ingratitude,  his  faith- 
lessness. He  had  mistaken  her  for  Sacha — doubtless  she 
knew  that  too! 

Very  slowly  she  rose,  dazed  by  this  new  blow,  and  stood 
over  him,  her  long  white  train  lending  her  a  tragic  height. 
Then  she  bent,  and  roughly  turned  his  white  face  upward. 

"  You  mistook  me  for  Sacha  Virianow  ?"  she  said,  fierce- 

330 


SNOW-FIRE 

ly.  "  You,  a  Grand-Seigneur,  a  Noble,  sneaked  in  disguise 
into  my  house  to  betray  me — after  all  that  had  passed!" 
Even  to  her  ears  the  words  seemed  incredible  still ;  to  him 
they  were  an  agony  of  remorse  and  dread,  and  he  tried 
to  escape  her  cruel  gaze,  tried  again  to  hide  his  telltale 
features,  but  he  reckoned  without  the  firm  hands  weigh- 
ing like  iron  on  both  his  shoulders. 

"  Answer!"  she  ordered,  in  a  strangely  low,  concentrated 
voice.  "Were  you  thinking  it  was  the  Virianow,  then?" 

"  Yes,"  he  faltered,  miserably.  "  But — but  you  must 
know — since  it  was  you — that  I  did  not  try  to  bind  her  to 
me — I  never  did  that — I  couldn't  as  long  as  you  had 
claims  upon  me!" 

She  let  go  of  him  with  a  look  that  seemed  to  shrivel  him 
where  he  sat,  and  took  one  or  two  turns  up  and  down  the 
room  before  rejoining  him.  When  she  did  so  she  was 
paler  than  he,  but  outwardly  calm.  "  So  you  have  kept 
the  letter  if  not  the  spirit  of  our — our  agreement!  Let 
that  be  placed  to  your  slender  credit.  But  now  comes  a 
more  difficult  task,  and  that  is  to  tell  me  all — all,  mind 
you — that  happened  between  you  and  the — the — Mar- 
quise de  Coetmen  in  the  past  and  the  present." 

Helpless  and  broken,  as  impotent  to  resist  her  imperious 
will  as  a  disarmed  man  a  sword-thrust,  he  incoherently 
began  his  confession — she  standing  the  while  before  him 
erect  and  rigid,  her  whole  strong  being  revolting  silently 
at  each  new  detail.  Fortunately  the  humiliating  recital 
did  not  last  long — painfully  hacked  and  bitten  out  though 
it  was — and  at  last  Serge  came  to  the  scenes  in  Paris — 
to  Alain's  behavior  and  to  Sacha's — perhaps  the  worst 
passage  of  it  all! 

When  he  paused  there  fell  upon  the  exquisite  room  a 
silence  so  complete  that  it  seemed  a  tangible  and  weighty 
thing.  Neither  Serge  nor  Daria  moved,  and  each  could 


SNOW-FIRE 

have  heard  the  beating  of  the  other's  heart.  At  last  she 
drew  herself  up  and  looked  around  her,  as  though  sur- 
prised, after  this  final  upheaval  of  her  life,  to  see  every 
object  in  its  proper  place.  Each  separate  nerve  was 
aching  in  her  body,  as  if  she  had  been  beaten  with  rods. 

"It  would  be  idle  for  me  to  qualify  your  conduct,"  she 
said,  but  very  quietly,  because  of  a  sudden  strange 
fatigue. 

"Daria!  Dana!"  he  cried,  all  at  once,  rising  again 
with  an  effort — for  he,  too,  felt  weak  and  shattered  just 
then.  "All  may  still  be  repaired  ...  be  as  it  once  was 
between  us  ...  if  you  can  only  forgive!"  Her  beauty  had 
never  struck  him  as  it  did  just  then.  Poor  little  Sacha 
.  .  .  was  it  for  her  insignificant  girlish  prettiness  that  he 
had  given  up  this  woman  among  women?  He  tried  to 
kneel  before  her,  but  she  drew  herself  away,  stamping 
her  slender  foot. 

"Great  God!"  she  cried.  "To  think  that  I  once  loved 
you  passionately — that  you  were  all  in  all  to  me — my 
own,  my  Serge — "  Something  choked  her,  and  she 
paused  abruptly,  her  features  undergoing  a  stony  trans- 
figuration that  made  the  cold  settle  about  his  heart. 

"Remember,  you  made  the  Coetmen  marriage!"  he 
ventured,  desperately,  bracing  himself  to  become  accuser 
in  his  turn. 

Daria  faced  round  to  glance  at  him,  and  began  to  laugh 
— a  laugh  that  rang  in  his  ears  to  the  moment  of  his  death. 

"Daria!"  he  implored  again.  "Oh!  Daria,  don't!" 
But  the  low,  soft  ripple  still  went  on :  such  sardonic  merri- 
ment as  made  his  brain  begin  to  turn,  though  there  was 
nothing  in  it  hysterical  or  unstrung.  It  stopped  at  last 
as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun. 

"I  made  that  marriage?  Well,  if  I  did,"  she  said  at 
last,  "I  certainly  committed  the  only  infamy  I  have 

33a 


SNOW-FIRE 

ever  been  guilty  of — and  innocently  at  that.  It  would 
be  useless  to  explain  to  you  how  it  was  done — you — you 
would  not  understand.  Think  what  you  choose,  what  you 
please,  or  what  you  prefer — you,  who  know  me  incapable 
of  anything  mean  or  low.  I  believed  in  you,  though 
knowing  you  to  be  inclined  to  small  frailties  and  oc- 
casional shyings.  This  you  might  perhaps  not  have  for- 
gotten so  promptly.  But  let  that  go  with  the  rest — it 
does  not  matter.  Let  it  be  as  it  is." 

"And  .  .  ."  he  faltered,  "you  will — neither — forgive 
nor  forget  my  madness — my  accursed  insanity.  They 
are  married,  aren't  they  ?  I  tell  you  all  might  still  be  well !' ' 

"Forgive,  forget  .  .  ."  she  said,  at  length,  "and  all 
would  be  ...  well  ?  With  whom,  pray,  would  it  be  well  ? 
With  me?  With  that  wax  doll  Sacha?  With  you?  .  .  . 
or  with  the  generous  friend  whose  life  you  have  ruined? 
It  is  true,  an  ingenious  mind  like  yours  might  find  a  way 
out  of  the  situation  into  which  you  have  plunged  us  all! 
Go  on — enlighten  me,  at  least,  about  your  projects  for  our 
common  benefit!" 

The  bitterness  of  the  challenge  choked  the  words  upon 
his  lips.  He  stared  vacantly  for  a  moment,  and  then,  as 
if  she  had  already  dismissed  him,  began  groping  blindly 
for  his  helmet. 

"Shall  I  never  see  you  again,  then — alone — like  this, 
I  mean  ?"  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  tortured  in  a  dream. 

"No!"  she  unrelentingly  replied.  And  snatching  up 
the  eagle-crested  helmet  from  the  chair  where  he  had 
thrown  it  upon  entering,  she  thrust  it  into  his  hands. 

For  a  moment,  which  seemed  a  black  eternity  of 
suffering  to  both,  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  he 
backed  from  her  presence,  leaving  her,  a  strange,  frozen, 
white  figure,  alone  in  the  familiar  room.  Never  could  he 
afterward  remember  how  he  had  passed  the  line  of  foot- 

333 


SNOW-FIRE 

men  awaiting  his  departure  in  the  hall  below,  nor  how  he 
got  into  his  carriage. 

Meanwhile  she  had  slowly  regained  her  own  apartments, 
and  in  an  instant  was  fiercely  stripping  those  rooms,  where 
all  her  personal  souvenirs  were  gathered,  of  every  object 
that  could  remind  her  of  him.  When  she  came  to  the 
locked  jewelled  frame  containing  his  miniature  she  held  it 
a  long  time  before  her  eyes,  gazing  incredulously  at  the 
lineaments  of  that  beloved  face. 

"That  too!"  she  murmured.  "  Yes,  that  too  ...  every- 
thing!" Her  lips  quivered  pitifully  .  .  .  and  as  the  por- 
trait also  vanished  in  the  wreck  upon  the  hearth  she  drew 
one  hand  across  her  brows,  searching  vaguely  with  the 
other  for  some  support,  and  giving  way  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  fell,  and  lay  face  downward,  unconscious,  un- 
suspected, unattended — a  broken  creature. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

His  debt  is  paid:  the  morning  sun, 
Gladdening,  with  rays  of  gold  that  run, 
Warms  but  a  semblance  sleeping  there; 
Though  smiling  still  and  debonnaire 
As  if  his  night  had  not  begun. 

Deny  him  not  your  benison: 
Who  knows  how  near  his  fight  was  won? 
Goes  thine  own  war  so  well?     Forbear, 
His  debt  is  paid. 

Short  is  the  skein  when  longest  spun, 
Strength  frail,  and  evil  hard  to  shun. 
Ah,  of  the  least  of  those  that  fare 
And  fall  upon  the  Road  of  Care, 
"God  rest  him!"  we  can  say,  "All's  done: 
His  debt  is  paid!" 

M.  M. 

IN  a  small  salon  of  the  Yacht  Club  a  few  field  officers 
were  assembled  before  a  roaring  fire  of  logs — the  spring 
being  unusually  cold  that  year — chatting  and  smoking. 
Among  them  was  the  Colonel  of  the  Hussars  of  Grodno, 
a  tall,  grim  martinet  of  a  man,  whose  severity  to  his 
subordinates  was  almost  proverbial.  As,  however,  he  was 
still  far  more  stern  and  unyielding  toward  himself,  none, 
not  even  his  hapless  victims,  could  find  reasonable  cause 
for  complaint.  His  long  body,  doubtless  to  match  his 
soul,  was  as  gaunt  and  unbending  as  a  steel  rod,  his 
cavalier's  mustache  barred  across  a  lean  face  adorned  with 
a  veritable  eagle's  beak  of  a  nose,  between  closely  set  eyes 
of  a  slate-gray  so  dark  and  lustreless  as  to  be  completely 

335 


SNOW-FIRE 

inscrutable,  while  his  hair,  gray  as  the  mustache,  was  so 
thick  and  short-cropped  that  it  looked  like  a  velvet  hat- 
brush.  In  general  appearance,  for  wiry  height  and  hard- 
ness, he  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  a  highly  polished 
lance. 

A  little  behind  him,  sipping  a  glass  of  gold-pailleted 
Dantzig-brandy,  sprawled  on  a  divan  no  other  than  the 
excellent  General  Debeline,  discoursing  sotto  voce  with  an 
elderly  busybody  belonging  to  his  brigade;  but  although 
their  voices  seemed  confidentially  lowered,  every  word 
that  passed  between  them  was  audible  to  the  fierce-look- 
ing Colonel  reading  his  evening  paper. 

At  last  he  turned  all  of  a  piece  toward  the  two  gossips, 
the  journal  crackling  aggressively  in  his  hand. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  in  his  rough,  dictatorial  fashion, 
"but  I  think  I  have  just  heard  you  two  gentlemen  men- 
tion several  times  the  name  of  one  of  my  best  officers,  in 
terms  that  do  not  appear  to  commend  him  to  the  universal 
respect  he  deserves." 

Debeline  arose — apparently  the  most  confused  of  men. 
"  We  should  crave  your  pardon,  Colonel,  for  having  failed 
so  greatly  in  tact  and  discretion;  but  our  excuse  is,  we 
had  no  idea  you  could  hear  our  silly  whisperings." 

"They  reached  me  perfectly  well,  and  as  commander 
of  this  lad's  regiment  I  consider  myself  entitled  to  demand 
an  explanation." 

Now  the  Colonel  was  not  only  a  millionaire  several 
times  over,  but  also  a  Prince,  a  celebrated  duellist,  and 
withal  a  man  of  such  military  and  social  importance  that 
Debeline,  in  spite  of  his  own  higher  rank  in  the  army,  in- 
stantly grovelled  before  him. 

"Oh  dear!  Oh  dear!"  he  lamented,  in  his  most  finicky 
way.  "I'd  give  ten  thousand  rubles  to  have  avoided 
this!  Upon  my  honor,  I  would!" 

336 


SNOW-FIRE 

The  Colonel  had  shifted  his  chair  with  one  quick  turn 
of  both  wrists,  and  now  sat  facing  the  two  scandalmongers 
with  an  air  that  plainly  meant  "  Damn  your  honor,  and 
you  with  it."  This  seemed  to  further  bewilder  his  senior 
in  grade,  as  well  as  age,  for  he  began  to  stammer  a  tor- 
rent of  incoherent  explanation  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
meant  nothing  at  all. 

"Let  me  speak  if  you  cannot,"  Colonel  Prince  Ossipoff 
curtly  interrupted.  "Only,  pray  set  me  right  if  I  have 
been  so  unlucky  as  to  misunderstand  your  statements.  If 
I  am  correct,  however,  you  accuse  Captain  the  Marquis 
de  Coetmen  of  having  married  for  her  money  a  lady  whom 
he  perfectly  well  knew  to  be  in  love  with  Count  Urlansky 
of  the  Chevalier-Gardes — there  is  no  use  in  mincing 
matters  or  names,  is  there  ?  And  not  only  did  he  marry 
her,  according  to  you,  from  purely  mercenary  motives, 
but  he  continues  to  hold  friendly  intercourse  with  Count 
Urlansky,  whose  long  attachment  to  a  well-known 
great  lady  had  stood  between  him  and  the  Princess 
Virianow.  If  matters  were  as  you  claim — which  I  do  not 
for  an  instant  believe — Captain  de  Coetmen  would  have 
rendered  himself  guilty  of  conduct  unworthy  a  man  of  his 
birth  and  breeding.  I  will  at  once  set  to  work  to  obtain 
positive  proof  of  the  falsity  of  these  accusations,  and  will 
take  pleasure  in  setting  them  before  you,  so  as  to  clear 
the  admirable  record  of  the  man  I  esteem  most  in  the 
regiment  I  have  the  honor  to  command.  In  the  mean 
while,  since  I  make  this  affair  a  personal  one,  I  ask  you 
two.  .  .  gentlemen  ...  to  be  absolutely  discreet  .  .  .  abso- 
lutely, you  understand,  and  to  avoid  as  you  would  fire  any 
possibility  of  being  overheard  as  you  were  just  now,  when 
you  indulged  in  such  peculiar  confidences." 

He  rose,  saluted  stiffly,  and  marched  out,  leaving  the 
two  compeers  gazing  guiltily  and  uncomfortably  at  each 

337 


SNOW-FIRE 

other  for  several  seconds  before  imperceptible  smiles  be- 
gan to  twitch  beneath  their  mustaches.  Their  bomb  had 
been  thrown,  but  the  immediate  consequences  of  the  ex- 
plosion had  been  neither  pleasant  nor  at  all  what  they 
had  been  expecting;  still,  they  had  irritated  the  frozen 
Ossipoff! 

As  he  drove  homeward  the  Colonel,  sitting  upright  in 
his  carriage  as  though  impaled,  spent  one  of  the  worst 
quarters  of  an  hour  of  his  life.  The  ugly  situation  he  had 
to  face  was  particularly  unpleasant  to  a  man  who,  like  him- 
self, lacked  one  quality,  diplomacy,  and  whose  dream  was 
to  conduct  any  and  every  affair  with  drawn  sword  and 
beating  drums.  Here  such  methods  were,  of  course, 
wholly  out  of  the  question,  since,  do  what  one  might  to 
avert  it  from  her,  the  first  blow  dealt  by  any  one  would 
assuredly  fall  upon  Grand-Duchess  Stepan.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  had  no  jurisdiction  whatsoever  over  Urlansky, 
excepting  through  the  latter's  own  commander,  a  man 
who  had  been  so  systematically  spoiled  by  everybody 
since  his  early  youth,  Fortune  herself  included,  that  he 
was  known  as  "Son  Impertinence,"  and  although  endowed 
with  a  certain  degree  of  wit,  intelligence,  and  monde, 
drowned  those  qualities  in  so  overweening  a  vanity  that 
to  call  on  him  for  help  would  be  a  thing  impossible.  Be- 
sides which  Prince  Ossipoff  hated  him,  if  nothing  more! 
There  remained  the  Tsar,  whom  he  had  dandled  on  his 
knee  as  a  rosy-cheeked  little  boy,  and  who  ever  since 
reaching  the  Throne  had  neglected  no  occasion  to  dis- 
tinguish his  childhood's  friend.  But  how  could  he  go  to 
His  Majesty  with  a  half-told  scandal  which  concerned 
the  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russia's  own  aunt?  No,  he  must 
learn  more  before  taking  any  decided  step,  and  suddenly 
checking  his  equipage  by  a  word  to  his  gorgeous  coach- 
man, he  had  himself  driven  to  the  Dermetchieff  Palace. 

338 


SNOW-FIRE 

He  remembered  that  this  was  one  of  the  Countess's  small 
reception  nights,  as  also  that  her  salons  were  the  very 
best  informed  in  Petersburg,  for,  less  indulgent  than  she 
really  appeared,  Prascovia-Pavlovna,  though  never  har- 
boring the  evil  sprite  herself,  did  not  wholly  dislike  to 
have  the  chronique  scandakuse  disport  itself  beneath  her 
roof.  Of  course,  Urlansky  was  her  nephew,  but  Alain 
and  Sacha  were  not  related  to  her,  and  in  the  crowd  of 
elegantes  which  would  be  there  many  bitter  little  tongues 
would  wag  busily  enough  to  afford  him  the  one  piece 
of  information  that  for  the  present  he  burned  to  possess 
— namely,  whether  or  no  the  poison  distilled  by  Debeline 
&  Co.  had  already  become  common  property. 

When,  an  hour  or  so  later,  he  re-entered  his  carriage  he 
knew  exactly  how  far  the  abominable  story  had  spread. 
If  some  one  did  not  at  once  interfere,  he  judged,  Alain 
was  a  lost  man  and  Grand-Duchess  Daria  irremediably 
compromised.  As  for  the  other  two,  Sacha  and  Ur- 
lansky, the  Commander  of  the  Grodno  Hussars  did  not 
care  a  rusty  bayonet  what  happened  to  them.  But  still 
just  now  he  was  more  or  less  forced  to  take  them  into 
consideration — a  fact  which  greatly  added  to  his  distress 
— and  heartache,  one  may  as  well  add;  for  all  that  glit- 
tered was  not  steel  where  this  outwardly  unbending 
tyrant  was  concerned. 

For  the  rest  of  the  night — there  was  not  much  left  of 
it  now — he  paced  heavily  from  one  end  to  the  other  of 
his  luxurious  apartments,  since  being,  happily  for  him, 
unmarried,  he  had  no  accounts  to  render  of  his  actions. 
At  dawn  his  path  seemed  plainer  before  him,  and  after  a 
cold  plunge  and  change  of  clothing  he  sat  down  at  his 
desk  and  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Alain,  asking  him  to  come 
and  see  him  before  going  on  duty.  An  orderly  had 
scarcely  departed  with  the  note  when,  for  the  first  time 

23  339 


SNOW-FIRE 

perhaps  in  all  his  life,  Ossipoff  began  to  question  the 
wisdom  of  one  of  his  own  actions.  Of  course  Alain  could 
refuse  to  answer  personal  questions,  could  resign  his  com- 
mission, or  do  fifty  other  things  showing  that  he  resented 
an  after  all  perfectly  unwarranted  intrusion  into  his  most 
private  affairs.  Fortunately  his  Colonel  had  also  always 
been  his  friend,  in  a  cold,  curiously  undemonstrative 
manner  that  the  young  Breton  thoroughly  understood 
and  appreciated — for  so  do  Bretons  mostly  act  them- 
selves— and  there  lay  the  one  chance  of  success. 

A  couple  of  cups  of  strong  coffee  and  a  cigar  even 
more  powerful  served  to  clear  his  sorely  tried  brain,  and 
when,  after  a  very  short  waiting,  his  valet  introduced 
Alain  into  the  study,  he  felt  able  to  attempt  even  the 
impossible. 

"Sit  down  here,  my  boy,"  he  said,  kindly,  indicating 
a  chair  close  to  his  desk  facing  the  full  light  of  the  win- 
dow, while  his  own  seat  was  within  the  shadow  of  the 
heavy  tapestry  curtains — "sit  down  here  and  listen  to 
what  I  have  to  tell  you  without  catching  fire  before  you 
hear  me  out."  This  was  all  the  preamble  that  Colonel 
Prince  Ossipoff  deemed  necessary ;  he  even  congratulated 
himself  on  its  adroitness. 

Alain  started  imperceptibly — a  fact  which  did  not  es- 
cape notice — but  took  the  proffered  seat  without  com- 
ment or  inquiry. 

"There  is  nothing  I  can  think  of  that  I  would  not 
sooner  do  than  what  I  consider  my  immediate  duty  tow- 
ard you  just  now,"  the  Colonel  went  on,  "and  all  I  hope 
is  that  you  will  have  the  strength  to  hear  me  out  to  the 
end  without  making  my  task  more  difficult.  Oh,  damn 
it,  you  must  see  what  I  mean!" 

"  I  shall  hear  you  out,  Colonel,  whatever  you  may 
have  to  say  to  me,  as  it  is,  of  course,  my  duty  to  do," 

340 


SNOW-FIRE 

Alain  replied.  He  had  grown  exceedingly  pale,  for  these 
unwonted  and  would-be  diplomatic  preparations  from  a 
man  like  Ossipoff  were  a  warning  indeed!  Yet  he  con- 
tinued to  sit  squarely  facing  his  Commander,  his  gaze 
fixed  upon  those  inscrutable  slate-gray  eyes  that  had 
struck  terror  into  so  many  young  officers  guilty  of  mis- 
deeds, great  or  small. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  Colonel,  simply,  and  in- 
stantly began  the  recital  of  all  he  had  heard  or  discovered 
for  himself  since  the  previous  night.  He  spoke  bluntly 
and  straight  as  a  bolt  flies,  without  pausing  to  round  off 
or  soften  any  peculiarly  painful  detail,  and  not  once  did 
Alain  stir,  though  from  pale,  toward  the  end,  he  turned 
livid. 

"And  now,"  concluded  the  Colonel,  in  a  voice  that  was 
no  longer  quite  as  firm  as  it  had  been,  "  do  me  the  honor 
to  believe  that  I  don't  credit  one  word  of  this  trash.  I 
know  you  too  well  for  that,  Alain!"  It  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  ever  used  this  intimate  form  of  address, 
and  the  younger  man  was  touched  to  the  heart.  "  Never- 
theless," the  other  resumed,  "some  enemies,  or  some 
merely  envious  people,  have  set  the  ball  rolling,  and  it 
must  be  stopped  before  it  goes  further.  You  see  yourself 
how  impossible  it  is  for  us  to  call  a  Court  of  Honor  to 
decide  upon  such  a  case.  Neither  can  the  Tsar  be  ap- 
pealed to,  for  reasons  which  you  know  as  well  as  I  do." 
He  paused,  and  for  the  first  time  turned  toward  the 
window,  and  began  absently  drumming  with  a  heavy 
silver  paper-knife  upon  the  gold-mounted  blotter  on  the 
desk.  Then,  with  onefquick  gesture,  he  snapped  it  square- 
ly in  two,  as  if  it  had  been  wood,  and  rose,  dropping  the 
pieces  on  the  floor. 

"Pardon  me,  Colonel,"  Alain  said,  very  low — "pardon 
me;  but  after  the  generous  fashion  in  which  you  have 

34i 


SNOW-FIRE 

just  dealt  with  me,  I  am  in  honor  bound  to  tell  you  in 
my  turn  the  truth  of  all  this.  Will  you  permit  me  to  do 
so  ...  and  to  ...  speak,  not  to  my  Commander,  but  to 
the  truest  friend  I  have  had  since  the  death  of  my 
parents  ?"  There  was  a  short  silence,  during  which  Prince 
Ossipoff  turned  his  back  completely  upon  his  subordinate, 
and,  hands  in  pockets,  fell  to  gazing  at  the  still  rather 
wintry  garden  below. 

"That's  more  than  I  would  ever  have  asked  of  you," 
he  said  at  last,  after  clearing  his  throat,  "  but ...  I'm  glad 
you  proposed  it."  His  voice  had  suddenly  become 
strangely  gruff. 

And  then  Alain  began,  omitting  no  circumstance  that 
could  possibly  count  against  himself,  while  slurring 
quickly  over  those  that  showed  Sacha  in  a  poor  light. 
Urlansky  he  hardly  mentioned,  the  Grand-Duchess  only 
to  put  in  a  word  of  the  most  heartfelt  gratitude  and 
respectful  pity.  Meanwhile  the  gray-haired  martinet, 
with  his  back  still  turned,  listened  intently  to  every 
change  of  intonation,  every  nuance  of  the  young  voice, 
occasionally  quivering  with  the  pain  of  broken  reserve, 
and  carrying  conviction  with  every  word. 

A  formidable  oath  was  all  the  great  cavalry  leader  in- 
dulged in  when  the  pitiful  history  of  the  last  months  had 
been  laid  bare  before  him.  And  once  more  there  was 
silence.  Alain  had  risen  from  the  rack  and  was  standing 
at  attention.  With  a  sudden  clink  of  spurs  Ossipoff 
turned  brusquely  and  walked  toward  him. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  "and  may  the  Devil  have  my  soul  if 
I  counsel  you  ill.  Your  pretended  intimacy  with  Ur- 
lansky cannot  continue.  It  is  that  especially  which 
points  toward  complicity — toward  a  dishonorable  ac- 
ceptance of  a  dishonorable  state  of  affairs.  More,  it 
must  be  broken  publicly,  noisily  even,  in  order  to  show 

342 


SNOW-FIRE 

those  hounds  that  you  have  never  held  the  position  they 
accuse  you  of  occupying.  Urlansky's  part  in  the  affair 
is  inexcusable,  however  much  you  have  tried  to  palliate 
it.  If  he  gets  a  sword-thrust  through  the  arm  it  will  do 
him  little  hurt,  and  in  any  case  rehabilitate  you.  Nat- 
urally the  quarrel  must  be  serious  and  well  witnessed — 
I  myself  will  see  to  that.  As  to — your  wife — and  another, 
they  must  not  and  cannot  be  even  mentioned.  Later, 
when  you,  the  best  fencer  in  my  regiment,  have  pricked 
Urlansky  enough  to  put  him  hors  de  combat,  and  yet  not 
sufficiently  to  endanger  his  life  [no  woman  is  worth  a 
man's  life,  the  confirmed  bachelor  was  thinking],  then  I 
will  see  to  your  obtaining  a  year's  leave  of  absence,  which, 
since  you  love  Madame  de  Coetmen,  you  might  put  to  a 
worse  use  than  in  winning  her  anew,  and,"  he  added, 
bitterly,  "also  in  teaching  her  how  to  know  a  good  man 
from  a  scamp.  When  you  come  back  all  will  have  been 
forgotten — Petersburg  fashion.  Of  course,  the  Yacht 
Club  would  be  the  best  place  for  your  public  difference 
of  opinion  with  Urlansky,  but — in  case  you  accept  my 
advice — leave  all  that  to  me,  and  be  assured  that  I  will  not 
fail  you.  Indeed,  I  think  I  had  best  call  personally  on 
that  popinjay  of  the  Guards,  in  order  to  explain  to  him 
what,  under  present  circumstances,  you  decidedly  cannot." 

He  paused  for  a  second,  but,  without  giving  Alain  time 
to  reply,  went  on :  "  If  you  agree,  come  back  here  this  after- 
noon at  five,  so  that  I  can  tell  you  all  that  I  have  done  in 
the  mean  time;  but  if  you  do  not  agree  in  any  particular, 
tell  me  now,  lad,  as  frankly  as  you  have  done  all  the  rest." 

Standing  stiff  as  a  ramrod  before  his  commanding 
officer,  twice  he  opened  his  lips,  but  the  grateful  words  he 
sought  for  would  not  come,  and  at  last  Ossipoff,  put- 
ting both  hands  on  his  shoulders  in  kindly  impatience, 
broke  in : 

343 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  You  see,  this  seems  to  me  the  only  way  out  of  a  trap, 
but  I  am  at  best  only  an  incurably  go-ahead  individual 
rather  inclined  to  brutality — and  by  no  means  infallible." 

Alain  had  found  his  voice  by  now.  "  I  will  never  forget 
what  you  are  doing  for  me,"  he  said,  unsteadily.  "  It  is 
the  only  clean  way  out  of  the  mud,  and  yet  I'd  sooner 
suffer  anything  than  bring  sorrow  and  shame  to  the 
Grand-Duchess. ' ' 

"I  have  an  idea  that  she  knows  a  good  deal  already," 
the  Colonel  replied.  "  I  am  no  worldling  nor  extraordinarily 
observant,  but  I  watched  her  eyes  last  night  during  a 
brief  appearance  she  made  at  the  Dermetchieff  Palace. 
Beautiful  and  regal  as  ever,  she  held  herself  too  straight 
not  to  be  expecting  a  blow  of  some  sort — or  perhaps  she 
had  but  just  warded  off  one  by  sheer  force  of  pride.  Be- 
lieve me,  she  is  not  the  sort  to  remain  ignorant  of  what 
touches  her  so  nearly  as  this.  She  can  deal  with  any 
situation,  of  that  I  am  firmly  convinced.  So  if  this  is 
your  sole  objection,  go  in  peace,  my  lad,  and — and — 
God  keep  and  bless  you,"  he  blurted  out  in  a  fashion  that 
gave  no  hint  of  blessing,  for  it  certainly  sounded  quite 
otherwise. 


The  quarrel  between  two  distinguished  young  officers 
at  the  Yacht  Club,  which  took  place  on  the  evening  of 
that  same  day,  is  still  spoken  of  at  St.  Petersburg.  That 
they  had  been  firm  friends,  and  that  both  were  evidently 
sober  and  unmistakably  in  bitterest  earnest,  was  as  much 
as  those  present  realized  at  the  moment.  A  few  remarks 
by  the  generally  silent  Colonel  of  the  Grodno  Hussars 
concerning  the  Russo-Japanese  War  had  led,  unfortunate- 
ly, to  others.  The  words  "cowards"  and  "drunkards" 
had  been  pronounced.  Two  enraged  men  had  faced  each 

344 


SNOW-FIRE 

other  with  uplifted  hands,  and  instantly,  amid  a  hubbub 
absolutely  unprecedented  in  the  most  decorous  and  dis- 
tinguished club  of  Russia,  reparation  by  arms  had  been 
demanded.  The  consternation  was  general,  and  so  ad- 
mirably had  the  scene  been  staged  that  not  a  soul  sus- 
pected prearrangement  or  collusion.  Sworn  to  absolute 
secrecy  until  mid-day,  the  nobles,  diplomats,  and  officers 
present  executed  a  speedy  departure,  and  the  choice  of 
seconds  immediately  followed.  As  soon  as  this  was  done 
the  two  principals  disappeared — Alain  accompanied  by 
his  Colonel,  Serge  in  tow  of  a  very  angry  comrade  of  the 
Guards,  who  kept  demanding,  without  receiving,  how- 
ever, the  slightest  satisfaction,  what  form  of  lunacy  had 
struck  him — and  the  ultra-fashionable  club  found  itself 
invaded  by  a  silence  and  desolation  which  rarely  if  ever 
prevailed  there  before  dawn. 

"Don't  kill  your  man — pas  de  bdtises!"  was  the  last 
word  of  Prince  Ossipoff  as  he  parted  from  Alain  at  one 
of  the  side-doors  of  the  Virianow  Palace.  Alain  nodded, 
and  saluted. 

"  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  that  he  killed  me,"  he  mut- 
tered, in  profound  weariness,  as  he  ascended  the  steps 
and  let  himself  into  the  portion  of  the  great  mansion  that 
he  inhabited  alone.  He  did  not  go  to  his  bedroom  but 
to  the  adjoining  study,  glanced  at  the  ormolu  clock  hang- 
ing above  the  desk,  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  In  three 
hours,"  he  mused,  "it  will  all  be  over,"  and,  sitting  reso- 
lutely down,  began  to  write  so  rapidly  that  his  hand 
seemed  to  fly  over  sheet  after  sheet  of  the  thick,  creamy 
paper,  stamped  in  pale  silver  at  the  corner  with  a  scarcely 
distinguishable  cipher  and  coronet. 

And  yet  he  wrote  but  two  letters:  one  to  Sacha,  and 
one  to  Grand-Duchess  Daria,  the  latter  expressing  bitter 
regret  at  having,  as  he  said,  so  ill  requited  her  conde- 

345 


SNOW-FIRE 

scension  and  kindness;  the  former — but  what  does  that 
one  matter,  since  it  was  destined  never  to  be  read  by  her  ? 
Placing  them  in  a  securely  locked  drawer,  he  went  along 
a  succession  of  empty  corridors  to  summon  Gretzki  the 
trustworthy — being  loth  to  ring  for  him  at  such  an  hour — 
and  with  his  aid  at  once  set  to  work  to  complete  all  neces- 
sary preparations. 

Above  the  Palace  the  night  was  very  clear  and  star- 
sown,  hinting,  but  hinting  coldly,  of  spring.  One  by  one 
the  constellations  began  fading  to  a  sickly  greenish  pallor, 
gradually  merging  into  the  thin  veil  behind  which  the 
sky  hid  the  nakedness  of  coming  dawn.  Not  a  sound  as 
yet  rose  upon  the  still  air  from  the  empty  streets  and 
avenues  of  the  metropolis — encircled  and  cut  in  two  by 
the  dull  waters  of  the  greater  and  lesser  Neva  stretching 
out  octopus-arms  between  their  formidable  stone-built 
quays.  At  last  a  frayed  wisp  of  faint  straw-color  etched 
upon  the  gloomy  horizon  announced  that  the  night  was 
spent,  and  a  new  day — no  better,  no  worse,  perchance, 
than  its  predecessors — was  awakening  in  the  far-off 
East. 

It  was  time  for  Alain  to  start,  but  he  stood  one  moment 
at  the  window  gazing  at  the  gradually  widening  line  of 
light,  which  to  its  first  wanness  was  adding  edges  of  rose, 
that,  warming  as  he  looked,  caught  delicately  the  un- 
easy mists,  and  stole  upward  in  a  blush  of  infinite  beauty 
and  promise.  Then  suddenly  from  the  awakening  hum 
of  the  city  the  light  roll  of  carriage  wheels  and  the  rhyth- 
mic beat  of  well-shod  hoofs  detached  itself.  Recog- 
nizing the  sound,  he  signed  to  Gretzki  to  bring  him  his 
long  cavalry  coat  and  flat  cap  and  left  the  room,  followed 
by  the  deeply  moved  orderly,  carrying  under  his  arm  a 
long,  slim  parcel  done  up  in  green  serge,  through  which 
the  shape  of  rapiers  was  easily  discernible. 


SNOW-FIRE 

Anxious  not  to  keep  his  Colonel  waiting,  he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  steps  of  the  side-portal  when  the  horses  stopped, 
shaking  the  foam  from  their  bits. 

"What  imprudence!"  Ossipoff  growled.  "You  will 
arrive  there  chilled  to  an  icicle.  Jump  in,  jump  in — and 
here,  Gretzki,  hand  me  that  bundle!"  Then  catching 
sight  of  the  man's  unhappy  eyes,  this  singularly  uncon- 
ventional and  original  Prince  added:  "Get  your  cap 
and  come  too.  We  have  an  empty  place — only  don't 
keep  us  waiting." 

Drawing  his  sleeve  across  his  telltale  eyes,  Gretzki 
snatched  his  cap  from  the  upper  step,  where  he  had 
dropped  it,  and  making  his  long  body  as  small  as  he  could, 
so  as  not  to  incommode  his  master's  other  second — a  very 
great  military  personage  indeed — squeezed  himself  into 
the  uttermost  corner  of  the  seat,  and  they  were  off. 

The  sun  seemed  reluctant  to  rise  this  morning,  and 
continued  to  hide  behind  gorgeous  curtains,  unwilling, 
perhaps,  to  countenance  two  men  who  were  hastening  to 
fly  at  each  other's  throats,  but  still,  as  the  fast  trotters 
swallowed  the  distance,  houses  and  monuments  slowly 
reassumed  their  every-day  shapes,  casting  off  the  sicken- 
ing twilight  grayness.  Colonel  Prince  Ossipoff  was  giv- 
ing Alain  his  last  instructions  in  a  whisper.  "No  false 
moves,"  he  was  urging.  "Don't  expose  yourself  too  gen- 
erously— remember  that  a  fatal  wound  on  either  side 
would  destroy  all  our  plans.  Be  careful,  please." 

Alain  nodded,  and  nodded  again  at  each  new  recom- 
mendation, but  in  his  heart  he  still  repeated,  "  I  wish  he 
would  kill  me — that  would  be  the  true  solution." 

At  last,  just  as  the  first  morning  rays  touched  the 
lance-heads  and  armorial  bearings  crowning  the  bronze 
gates  of  a  vast  garden,  the  landau  swung  to  the  left,  en- 
tered a  broad  sanded  avenue,  and  stopped  at  a  pavilion 

347 


SNOW-FIRE 

a  mile  or  so  distant  from  the  summer  residence  of  the 
silent  second,  who  during  the  drive  had  not  once  moved 
or  opened  his  mouth. 

No  corner  more  secluded  could  have  been  imagined  than 
this  park,  over  which  a  hint  of  budding  green  spread  light 
as  crumpled  China  silk.  Though  the  new  grass  was  not 
long  out  of  the  ground,  the  turf  was  already  firm  and 
elastic  enough  for  the  hour's  purpose,  while  beneath  the 
touch  of  the  sun  the  air  was  rapidly  becoming  wanner. 

Immediately  behind  the  Ossipoff  carriage  another  one 
had  followed  closely,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  two 
principals,  their  seconds,  and  the  surgeons — poor  Gretzki 
standing  aside,  still  clutching  his  fateful  green  package — 
stood  face  to  face,  bowing  low.  The  eyes  of  Alain  and  of 
Serge  met  for  a  brief  instant.  They  were  enemies  now, 
who  had  been  such  close  friends,  and  though  shame  lay 
behind  the  one  and  utter  weariness  behind  the  other, 
these  boyhood  memories  set  the  same  stamp  upon  both 
their  faces,  making  them  more  than  ever  alike  in  their 
dissimilarity — a  stamp  of  surprised  pain  at  the  doings  of 
this  fine  spring  morning.  It  all  seemed,  no  doubt,  an  evil 
dream  to  them,  and  just  before  the  drawing  of  lots  for 
place  and  swords,  while  the  two  entered  the  pavilion  by 
opposite  doors  to  divest  themselves  of  stocks  and  tunics, 
both  felt  equally  bewildered  and  equally  guilty. 

Of  the  same  height  and  bearing,  they  made,  a  few  minutes 
later,  a  curiously  perfect  picture  as  they  stood  opposite 
each  other,  silhouetted  against  that  tender  green  curtain 
of  trees  and  shrubs,  awaiting  the  command  to  engage. 
It  was  given  by  Alain's  Colonel,  and  at  once  the  keen 
twitter  of  steel  on  steel  began. 

Alain,  admirably  master  of  his  nerves  now  that  he  had 
hilt  in  hand,  continued  to  content  himself  with  parrying 
Serge's  lunges,  and  watching  for  the  minute  when  he  could 

348 


SNOW-FIRE 

pierce  his  sword-arm.  For  him,  at  least,  the  sense  of  un- 
reality had  passed,  to  be  replaced  by  the  cold  interest  of 
an  expert  forced  to  play  a  game  against  his  will.  But 
Serge  was  getting  hotter  with  every  new  parade.  In  his 
mind  there  was  a  turmoil  of  shame  and  fury  that  would 
not  pass,  and  soon,  indeed,  he  no  longer  knew  what  he  was 
fighting  for  or  why  he  stood  opposite  his  dearest  friend — 
only  that  this  invincible  blade  which  turned  and  turned 
aside  his  own  was  driving  him  mad.  Stop  it  he  must, 
stop  it  he  would,  and  he  threw  himself  furiously  and  more 
furiously  forward,  forgetting  Sacha,  forgetting  Alain  him- 
self, eager  only  to  silence  the  devilish  click,  click,  of  the 
bright  blade  that  seemed  to  twang  like  a  merciless  hand 
on  every  taut-strung  fibre  of  his  body.  Above  him  the 
clear,  light-blue  sky  whirled  and  pulsated  unsteadily,  and 
those  tiny  little  figures  in  uniform — they  looked  oddly 
small  to  him,  like  men  seen  through  a  reversed  opera-glass 
— turned  too  during  the  short  pauses  between  assaults. 
How  absurdly  they  grimaced,  those  little  faces!  Of 
course  they  were  laughing  at  him;  and  still  the  familiar 
hilt — for  his  swords  had  been  the  ones  selected  by  Fate — 
felt  like  a  ball  of  cotton  in  his  hand.  God !  what  did  it  all 
mean?  Desperately  he  made  one  masterly  recover,  and, 
wild  to  profit  by  this  advantage,  leaped  forward  with  a 
lightning  thrust. 

"Stop!  stop!"  he  faintly  heard  voices  crying — reedy, 
unreal  voices  he  had  never  heard  before — and  he  was 
lying  on  the  thin  grass  with  something  thick  and  clogging 
dripping  from  his  left  breast.  He  thought  he  heard  a 
long-drawn  sob.  Somebody  was  bending  over  him,  and  he 
opened  his  eyes  wide  to  find  that  on  one  side  knelt  the  sur- 
geon of  his  own  regiment,  on  the  other  Alain  shaking  like  a 
leaf.  The  blue  above  was  quite  still  now,  the  faintly  green 
trees  no  longer  waved  in  confusion,  and  he  tried  to  speak. 

349 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Hush!  hush!"  the  surgeon  murmured;  but  still  he  had 
something  to  say — why  should  he  not  do  so  ?  Of  a  sudden 
he  lifted  himself  on  one  elbow  with  a  deep  rending  gasp — 
a  gush  of  blood  followed,  and  he  sank  back  limply  into 
Alain's  arms  without  his  last  wish  having  been  granted. 

"All  over,"  pronounced  the  surgeon,  vainly  trying  to 
speak  in  a  voice  he  would  not  be  ashamed  of;  but  there 
were  tears  in  his  eyes,  for  even  a  surgeon  may  find  it  hard 
to  see  a  brave  man  die.  None  of  the  others  could  as  yet 
believe  that  he  spoke  truly;  so  swift  a  doom  was  im- 
possible. Why  had  the  wretched  lad  transfixed  himself 
so  blindly  upon  his  -adversary's  sword?  What  sudden 
insanity  had  seized  him?  Colonel  Ossipoff,  recovering 
first  from  the  horror  that  held  them  all  mute,  turned  to 
Alain,  who  was  leaning  against  a  broad  tree-trunk,  blood 
trickling  slowly  from  his  arm. 

"Are  you  hurt,  too?  The  Devil!  Here,  Major — come 
here.  This  one  also  may  be  badly  hurt."  And  as  the 
surgeon  of  the  Grodno  Hussars  ran  up,  Ossipoff  drew 
Gretzki  to  one  side.  "It  is  fortunate  I  brought  you 
here,"  he  whispered,  his  face  as  gray  as  his  mustache, 
"  for  you  must  get  your  Captain  across  the  frontier  before 
night.  I  will  make  all  necessary  arrangements.  Do 
you  know  if  he  has  ready  money  at  home?  You  don't? 
Never  mind,  we'll  see  to  that,  too.  Meanwhile  we  will 
take  him  to  my  place."  Unconsciously  he  was  speaking 
to  Gretzki  as  to  an  equal.  "  Go  and  see  if  you  can  help 
the  Major  to  put  your  master  in  my  carriage,"  he  con- 
tinued; "  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute."  And  with  a  jingle  of 
sword  and  spurs  he  hastened  over  to  the  other  group. 

"Can  you  get  this  poor  fellow  home?"  he  asked,  glan- 
cing with  rough  pity  at  the  magnificent  human  form 
stretched  out  on  the  white  Chevalier-Garde  cloak.  "  Can 
you  manage  to  get  him  to  his  home,  gentlemen,  without — 

350 


SNOW-FIRE 
ti- 
er— attracting  notice  ?     It  is  early  yet,  and  for  imperative 
reasons  I  desire  to  inform  His  Majesty  myself  of  what 
has  just  taken  place.     If  we  can  keep  it  secret  till  noon, 
much  scandal  may  still  be  avoided."     The  listeners  nod- 
ded.    There  was  not  one  man  present  who  did  not  think 
of  Grand-Duchess  Stepan. 

"  Meanwhile,  for  the  same  reasons,"  the  Colonel  began 
again,  a  trifle  huskily,  "  I  will  smuggle  De  Coetmen  out 
of  Russia;  and  I  ask  of  you,  gentlemen,  to  trust  in  my 
honor  to  set  your  side  of  the  question  as  well  as  our  own 
in  the  most  favorable  light  before  our  Master  the  Tsar." 
To  any  other  man  some  objection  might  perhaps  have 
been  offered,  but  not  to  Colonel  Prince  Ossipoff,  and  the 
Urlansky  carriage  immediately  drove  off,  leaving  the 
other  to  follow  as  soon  as  Alain's  deep  but  not  dangerous 
wound  had  been  attended.  It  had,  however,  been  touch- 
and-go  with  him,  for  Serge's  blade,  in  that  last  mad  lunge, 
had  transfixed  his  upper  arm,  and  barely  missed  the 
brachial  artery.  He  walked  unassisted  to  the  carriage, 
his  marble- white  face  set  rigidly,  and  once  more — but  with 
what  vastly  different  feelings — the  same  weary  road  was 
traversed. 


It  was.  as  the  Colonel  had  said,  very  early  yet — a 
mercy  for  all  concerned — but  Daria,  who  had  slept  but 
ill,  was  up  at  six  o'clock  and  moving  about  her  apart- 
ments. Some  intolerable  oppression  made  her  breathe 
auickly  as  she  entered  her  study,  whence  she  could  best 
see  the  sunrise.  She  had  not  summoned  her  maids,  and 
her  long,  white  peignoir  showed  ghostlike  against  the 
gray  and  rose  of  the  sky  that  was  beginning  to  tint  the 
curtains  draping  the  tall  windows.  Pushing  these  im- 
patiently aside,  she  stood  motionless,  and  watched  the 

351 


SNOW-FIRE 

• 

faint  heaven  deepen  to  a  flaming  crimson,  gradually  dis- 
solving into  the  domed  and  vaulted  azure  of  a  sunlit  day. 
Two  or  three  times  she  shivered,  but  still  she  kept  her  post, 
watching  and  waiting,  and  vaguely  wondering  what  had 
so  heavily  increased  her  burden  of  anxiety  since  last 
night. 

And  now,  at  last,  the  town  started  to  awaken  and  the 
dead  silence  to  break.  In  a  little  time  she  must  dress 
and  be  ready  to  tread  again  the  dreary  ways  of  her  life. 
But  she  lingered  there,  waiting,  waiting  for  she  knew  not 
what;  and  all  of  a  sudden  the  sharp  little  bell  of  her 
private  telephone  rang  out  its  tinkling  call. 

"  Ah!"  she  gasped  .  .  .  and  for  a  full  minute  leaned  with 
both  hands  on  its  ebony  table,  afraid  to  touch  the  re- 
ceiver. Only  the  voice  of  misfortune  would  dare  to 
summon  her  so  early. 

Then  with  trembling  fingers  she  snatched  it  from  its 
support. 

At  first  there  seemed  nothing  but  a  confused  murmur 
— like  some  one  trying  to  speak  through  choking  tears, 
but  at  last  she  distinguished  a  broken  old  voice  saying: 

"Is  this  Your  Imperial  Highness  in  person?" 

"Ye*gor!"  she  murmured,  under  her  breath.  And 
louder:  "  Yes,  what  is  it,  Ye"gor ?  What  has  happened ?" 

"Can  .  .  .  could  .  .  .  would  it  be  possible  for  Your 
Imperial  Highness  to  come  here — for — for  a  moment?" 

"I?"  she  cried,  in  horror.  "What  is  it,  Ye"gor?  .  .  . 
What  has  happened  ?  Don't  you  hear  me  ?"  The  strong, 
self-controlled  woman  was  shaking  like  a  leaf. 

"He  has  been — hurt!"  came  weakly  over  the  wires. 

"  Gravely  ?  Gravely  hurt  ? .  . .  Tell  me  the  truth,  Y£gor. 
Is  he  ...  dead?" 

And  then,  in  suddenly  firmer  tones,  the  heroic  lie  was 
uttered:  "No — but  he  wants  you  I" 

352 


SNOW-FIRE 

Daria,  insecure  upon  her  feet,  clutched  the  edge  of  the 
table,  and  there  was  a  pause. 

"  Keep  everybody  away  from  him.  I  am  coming,"  she 
said,  and  rang  off. 

Quickly,  silently,  she  sped  back  to  her  dressing-room, 
groped  for  a  dark  gown  and  hat,  placed  them  on  a 
lounge,  and  began  to  dress  herself,  unaided,  for  the 
first  time.  When  this  was  accomplished  she  tied  a  thick 
veil  over  her  hat,  and  glided  down  the  little  side-stairs 
so  often  used  by  Stepan  on  nights  of  protracted  pleasure. 
The  bolts  of  the  outer  door  had  not  been  withdrawn  yet, 
and  she  had  to  use  force  to  push  them  from  their  sockets, 
but  this  revived  her  strength,  as  did  the  blast  of  cool 
air  that  met  her  as  the  thick  panel  swung  aside.  Rapidly, 
with  her  easy,  graceful  step,  she  walked  toward  Serge's 
rooms. 

The  distance  was  not  great,  and  she  was  in  a  way 
pleased  to  have  encountered  no  early  droshky  to  tempt 
her  with  greater  speed.  Sooner  than  she  could  have 
expected,  she  was  at  Serge's  door.  Her  gloved  fingers 
fumbled  with  the  bell-button,  and  she  found  herself  in- 
side the  dim  lower  hall,  gazing  a  little  unseeingly  at  Ye"gor, 
who,  though  evidently  hurrying  to  descend  the  long 
flight  of  stairs,  seemed  to  her,  in  some  unaccountable 
way,  merely  to  hover  above  them.  When  he  reached 
her  side — she  remained  convinced  that  it  had  taken  him 
an  hour  at  least  to  do  so — she  saw  his  face  only  too  plain- 
ly, and  with  a  smothered  exclamation  passed  him  at  a 
run,  flying  up-stairs  to  Serge's  salon  before  Ye'gor  began 
to  realize  what  she  was  doing.  With  a  great  effort  of  his 
remaining  strength,  the  old  man — a  very  old  man  now — 
followed,  and  managed  to  catch  up  with  her  before  she 
reached  the  bedroom. 

"Don't  go  in  there!"  he  cried,  throwing  himself  at  her 

353 


SNOW-FIRE 

feet.  "  Don't,  I  implore  you,  before  I  can  say  ...  I  can 
speak!"  He  was  breathless  to  the  point  of  fainting,  and 
with  a  purely  mechanical  kindness  she  raised  him  up  again. 

"Never  mind!"  she  harshly  interrupted,  and,  avoiding 
his  feeble  grasp,  she  passed  on  to  the  closed  room  and 
out  of  his  sight. 

On  the  great  bed,  supported  at  the  four  corners  by 
admirably  sculptured  figures  of  knights  in  armor,  lay 
Serge,  just  as  he  had  fallen  an  hour  ago  on  the  soft  spring 
grass,  excepting  that  the  long,  white  cavalry  cloak  now 
covered  him  almost  to  the  throat.  He  looked  very  sound 
asleep — nothing  more — and  handsomer  than  she  had 
ever  seen  him. 

Very  slowly  she  removed  her  gloves,  her  hat,  and  her 
veil,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  all  the  while  in  one  intense 
question.  Yegor's  sobs  outside  the  portiere  troubled 
her  not  at  all — she  probably  did  not  even  hear  them. 
At  last  she  bent,  and,  taking  Serge's  face  between  both 
her  hands,  she  raised  the  unresisting  head  slightly  from 
the  pillows. 

"Did  I  do  this,  lad?"  she  whispered.  "Was  it  my 
fault?"  Her  lips  were  so  close  to  his  that  she  must  have 
been  expecting  a  reply.  For  a  long  moment  she  re- 
mained in  the  same  position — a  slim,  black  figure,  tense 
with  repressed  pain,  scrutinizing  the  calm  young  features 
in  their  statuesque  repose;  she  herself,  with  her  extreme 
pallor  and  glistening  eyes,  looking  at  that  minute  as  young 
almost  as  he,  whose  age  was  to  be  measured  no  more  by 
our  slow  Time.  The  half-drawn  curtains  of  the  lofty 
windows  let  in  but  a  narrow  glaive  of  sunshine.  One  pris- 
matic ray,  stealing  from  the  great  stained  oriel  through 
the  interval  of  heavy  draperies,  fell  across  them  and  the 
bed  like  a  slender  rainbow;  but  she,  intent  to  read  this 
marmorean  enigma,  did  not  see. 

354 


SNOW-FIRE 

"  Was  I  too  strict  .  .  .  too  severe  .  .  .  too  impatient  with 
you,  Serge  .  .  .  my  Serge?"  she  murmured  again.  A 
scarce  perceptible  shifting  of  the  band  of  iridescence  sud- 
denly dispersed  the  shadows,  and  showed  him  to  her 
smiling  the  old  mocking  tender  smile  with  which — ah! 
how  long  ago  now — he  had  so  often  calmed  her  doubts 
and  anxieties. 

With  a  swift  quiver  of  joy  she  softly  pillowed  his  head 
again,  and  slid  to  her  knees  beside  him,  her  cheek  to  his, 
one  arm  thrown  across  his  broad  breast. 

"He  heard,"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "He  heard 
me  .  .  .  and  replied!"  And  then  there  was  peace  and 
silence  in  the  great  half-darkened  room. 

Outside,  Ye*gor  had  gradually  ceased  to  sob.  Crouch- 
ing now  against  the  door,  he  was  as  still  in  his  exhaustion 
as  were  those  two  within,  taking  so  long  and  last  a  leave. 
Half  consciously  the  broken-hearted  servitor  tried  to  re- 
member that  solemn  duties  called  him,  that  soon  perhaps 
the  terrible  escort  of  death  would  claim  its  place  in  that 
shut  room,  but  he  was  old  .  .  .  old  and  weak  ...  a  crea- 
ture altogether  past  his  usefulness,  he  mumbled  to 
himself  .  .  .  and  how  could  such  a  very,  very  old  man 
attend  to  any  sort  of  duty  ...  to  such  ones  as  would  short- 
ly be  forced  upon  him,  surely  not! — that  would  be  too 
unjust — too  cruel!  Besides,  "she"  was  with  "him"  .  .  . 
bringing  him  back  to  life  ...  to  love  and  life  .  .  .  yes, 
and  all  else  he  had  lost.  "She,"  who  was  all-powerful, 
could  do  this,  his  muddled  wits  continued  to  assert.  Why 
not  let  them  bide  together  a  little  longer,  then  ?  He  shut 
his  reddened  eyes,  and  again  waited,  a  rosary  between  his 
relaxed  fingers,  as  Hindoo  fakirs  do  at  the  portals  of  a 
temple. 

All  at  once  the  deep  boom  of  the  tall  Louis  XIV.  clock 
standing  in  the  alcove  near  by,  roused  him  brutally,  and 
24  355 


SNOW-FIRE 

brought  him  to  his  feet,  blinking  up  at  the  round  dial 
of  blue  enamel  and  gold  that  had  so  long  directed  his 
daily  tasks. 

"Mother  of  God!"  he  cried  aloud,  "he  should  be  on 
his  way  to  barracks!"  and  turned  to  the  door.  As  he 
touched  the  cool  ivory  knob,  however,  he  paused.  "He 
should,"  he  muttered  again,  "be  on  his  way  to  barracks 
.  .  .  assuredly  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that!"  But  still 
he  did  not  enter,  despairingly  attempting  to  clear  his 
hazy  brain.  "No,  of  course  .  .  .  but  I  must  wake  him 
gently;  he  was  up  late  last  night,  wasn't  he?"  he 
mused,  and,  noiseless  as  a  shadow,  he  entered  his  mas- 
ter's chamber. 

With  one  horrible  shock  of  returning  memory  that  rent 
every  veil,  he  staggered  against  the  tapestried  wall,  star- 
ing fearfully  toward  the  bed,  from  which  the  rainbow  of 
hope  had  vanished.  Daria  had  not  moved,  and  the  dark 
figure  showing  clearly  against  the  whiteness  of  the  pillows 
and  the  drooping  cavalry  mantle  brought  him  back  to 
his  senses,  and  miraculously  transformed  him  from  the 
trembling,  shuffling,  almost  insane  rag  of  humanity  but 
just  now  crouching  on  the  ground. 

Light  as  blown  feathers  he  stepped  to  her  side,  and 
spoke  in  a  low  and  quiet  tone:  "Imperial  Highness  .  .  . 
you  must  not  remain  here  ...  for  your  sake  ...  for  his 
own!" 

Daria  raised  her  face,  and  it  looked,  Ydgor  thought 
later,  as  if  she  had  gone  to  accompany  him  a  little  way 
on  the  long  road.  Then  she  rose  so  gently  that  she 
scarce  disturbed  a  fold  of  her  dress. 

"Yes,  Ye"gor  ...  I  must  go,  I  know."  Her  eyes  turned 
wistfully  toward  Serge.  "Get  some  one  to  call  a  closed 
carriage,  and  let  it  wait  by  the  servant's  entrance."  Her 
voice  was  so  utterly  quiet  it  fell  heavily  on  the  old  man's 

356 


SNOW-FIRE 

heart.  But  what  could  he  say,  what  could  he  do  to  help 
her  except  obey  ? 

As  soon  as  he  had  left  her  to  go  on  her  errand,  she 
moved  to  the  desk  where  Serge  had  read  the  Tsar's 
orders  about  the  Caucasus.  Her  locked  miniature  still 
stood  there,  but  she  knew  where  to  find  the  key,  and 
strangely  enough  the  frame  was  even  now  banked  deep 
in  dark  Russian  violets,  her  favorite  flowers.  Tears  were 
very  near  now,  but  she  bit  her  lips,  and,  lifting  both  frame 
and  blossoms,  carried  them  to  the  bed,  where  she  left 
them  while  taking  a  last  look  about  her. 

When  she  returned  to  him,  she  held  a  Greek  cross  of 
enamelled  gold  she  herself  had  given  him,  and  this,  with 
half  the  violets,  she  placed  upon  his  breast.  Without 
having  been  told,  she  knew  why  and  how  he  had  died, 
and  she  would  not  displace  the  cloak,  even  for  a  second; 
but  she  laid  her  hand  softly  over  the  silenced  heart,  and 
for  the  first  time  kissed  him.  "A  plus  tard,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  the  language  they  had  loved  best  to  speak 
together. 

Yegor's  hushed  step  was  at  the  door,  and  hastily  she 
threw  her  cloak  about  her,  and  veiled  herself,  before 
taking  up  the  frame  and  the  other  half  of  the  violets. 

"The  carriage  is  here,  Imperial  Highness,"  whispered 
the  old  man  behind  her. 

"I'm  coming.  Wait,"  she  replied  dully,  slipping  in 
the  palm  of  her  glove  a  little  golden  lock  of  hair  and  the 
tiny  scissors  with  which  she  had  just  severed  it. 

In  the  hall  she  stopped  short.  "Ye"gor,"  she  said, 
"when  all — this  is  over,  I  will  go  to  Livadia  for  a 
while — perhaps  a  long  while.  Will  you  enter  my  service 
and  come  there  with  me?" 

With  a  choked  blessing  he  once  again  threw  himself 
down  before  her,  and  pressed  the  hem  of  her  skirt  to  his 

357 


SNOW-FIRE 

lips.  "Ah,  Merciful  Master  of  All,"  he  cried,  "to  be 
allowed  to  live  in  her  shadow  always — she  who  has  be- 
longed to  my  child!"  He  tried  to  tell  her  further  what 
she  had  just  done  for  him,  but  she  signed  to  him  to  rise, 
and  in  a  few  brief  words  began  to  give  him  her  instruc- 
tions, as  she  had  done  so  many,  many  times,  about 
Serge — always  about  Serge.  These  would  be  the  last, 
and  once  her  voice  caught — but  once  only. 

Down  the  narrow  side-stairs  they  crept  together,  and 
from  the  doorstep  he  watched  her  drive  away — watched 
until  the  droshky  was  but  one  more  black  speck  on  the 
sunlit  avenue. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

My  land,  my  sea-born  land,  whose  cliffs  the  surges 

Beat  evermore  in  cloudy  foam  and  spray, 
To  whom  my  thought  unresting  strains  and  urges 
Ev'n  as  of  yore,  to-day; 

Keep  faith  with  me:  O  guard,  against  my  finding, 

Some  sweep  of  heather  to  horizons  blue — 
Some  spot  unworn  by  sullen  years  and  grinding 
(As  I  have  done  for  you). 

Wherein  Remembrance,  like  the  lark,  may  bower 
To  brood  apart,  and  when  the  nights  are  done, 
Strong -winged  above  the  mists  and  darkness  tower 
To  sing  amid  the  sun. 

In  this  her  heritage,  for  its  fit  adorning 

And  mystic  ritual,  should  be  menhirs  tall, 
Ivy  for  steadfastness,  and  pine  for  mourning, 
And  violets  over  all. 

Foxglove,  to  listless  winds  her  bell-flower  bending, 

For  long  regret,  and,  thorned  in  savage  wise, 
The  waste-born  whin,  for  empty  days  unending 
Dawned  from  unfriendly  skies. 

Beneath,  the  West  should  spread  her  rolling  portal. 

As  to  the  orient  waves  my  heart  her  shrine, 
So,  as  the  sunrise  brings  your  love  immortal, 
Sunset  shall  waft  you  mine. 

To  Brittany — M.  M. 

A  FINE  drizzle  of  rain,  as  so  often  on  the  coast  of 
Finisterre,  was  blurring  the  tall  hedges  of  furze  and  gorse 
framing  a  typically  narrow,  deep -rutted  Breton  road, 

359 


SNOW-FIRE 

when  a  very  rickety  equipage,  drawn  by  two  shaggy  little 
horses,  and  driven  by  a  white-bloused  man  who  en- 
couraged his  team  from  time  to  time  by  stentorian  whoops 
and  yells,  creaked  along  in  the  direction  of  the  small  for- 
tified town  of  Trebiroz.  Beneath  the  crazy  leathern 
hood  at  the  back  of  this  singular  conveyance  two  women 
sat,  or,  rather,  danced,  to  the  inequalities  of  the  highway, 
under  the  ungracious  "shelter"  of  a  once  waterproof  lap- 
robe,  which  now,  cut  at  every  fold,  seemed  but  an  ironical 
protection  from  the  penetrating  and  all-pervading  wet- 
ness. 

The  younger  of  the  two,  a  brown-eyed  silver-blonde, 
extremely  pretty  and  Elegante,  did  not  seem  to  mind  all 
this  in  the  least,  but  continually  poked  forth  her  ex- 
quisitely hatted  little  head  to  gaze  in  rapture  at  a  dripping 
clump  of  pink  foxglove  or  a  heather-crested  bank ;  while 
her  companion,  also  very  good  to  look  at,  but  more  simply 
turned  out  and  dark  of  hair,  smiled  occasionally  the  in- 
dulgent smile  one  grants  to  an  amused  child. 

"  Rosalie,  why  don't  you  enjoy  this  ?  We  are  in  your 
country,  after  all ...  and  oh,  it  is  beautiful!  Why,  I  think 
I  can  smell  the  sea  from  here — it  must  be  behind  that 
thicket  of  young  oaks — I  swear  it  must!" 

"This  is  not  my  country,  Madame  la  Marquise  ...  I 
am  a  Parisian,  as  Madame  la  Marquise  well  knows;  but 
I'll  allow  that  if  it  was  not  raining  so  much,  this  might 
be  a  pretty  bit  of  scenery." 

"Might!"  the  other  exclaimed,  impatiently.  "It  is 
splendid,  admirable,  rain  or  no  rain!  Look  at  that 
thatched  roof  hiding  in  the  willows  by  the  noisy  brook 
that  crosses  under  the  road  to  the  meadow.  Have  we 
anything  as  picturesque  in  Russia  ?  Answer,  now.  Have 
we?" 

"Madame  la  Marquise  should  calm  herself.  I  believe 

360 


S  N  O  W  -  F  I  R  E 

we  are  nearly  there,  and  Madame  will  need  all  her  calm 
to —  But  wait,  I'll  question  this  long-haired  barbarian," 
and  incontinently  Rosalie  thrust  the  ferule  of  her  um- 
brella, with  an  unsparing  hand,  into  the  broad  back  of  the 
rustic  Jehu. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  in  purest  Breton,  only  half 
turning  his  red  head.  "  What  is  it  you  want  ?  Pttrd  a 
fell  d'e-hoc'h." 

"Can't  you  speak  Christian  French?"  Rosalie  screamed 
at  him,  to  surmount  the  metallic  rattle  of  the  rickety 
springs  and  the  shoe-chains  loosely  festooned  about  the 
aged  voiture.  "Hey!  listen  to  me.  Trebiroz  .  .  .  how  .  .  . 
far  ...  to  ...  Trebiroz  ?" 

"  Trebiroz  1"  he  echoed,  with  a  wide  laugh,  displaying 
a  double  row  of  dazzling  teeth,  showing  all  the  whiter 
thanks  to  the  deep  tan  of  his  well-cut  face — "  des  dents  & 
manger  ses  sabots, "  they  say  there. 

"  Trebiroz !"  He  pointed  negligently  with  his  outrageous- 
ly frayed  whip  to  a  distant  gap  in  the  ever-thickening 
hedge,  where  something  resembling  a  cluster  of  crenellated 
towers  vaguely  showed  against  the  green  of  a  far-stretch- 
ing forest. 

"How  far?"  Rosalie  persisted,  in  acid  Parisian  accents, 
stretching  her  four  fingers  and  thumb  toward  him,  and 
beginning  to  count  aloud.  "One — two — three — four — 
five  kilometers — what,  you  idiot?" 

Again  the  man  smiled  his  broad  careless  smile,  and  in  a 
sudden  illumination  of  intellect,  tucked  his  reins  beneath 
his  thigh,  and  imitating  Rosalie's  pantomime,  replied,  in 
a  deep  guttural  voice: 

"Trebiroz!"  tapping  each  of  his  first  three " digits 
separately  with  a  square-nailed  thumb. 

"  Three  kilometers,  he  must  mean,"  the  disgusted  damsel 
translated,  turning  to  her  mistress.  "  And  a  nice  route  it 

361 


SNOW-FIRE 

seems  likely  to  be,"  she  concluded,  shrugging  her  shoulders 
as  the  good-looking  Breton  gars  howled  melodiously  at  his 
plucky  little  beasts,  that  cheerily  jumped  forward  at  the 
sound. 

"We  have  travelled  farther  and  fared  worse,"  Sacha 
objected.  "Here  we  are  on  the  right  track  at  last  .  .  . 
and  it  may  only  be  an  hour  before  ..."  Her  voice  broke, 
and  sudden  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"Now,  Madame,  you  must  really  be  reasonable!" 
scolded  Rosalie,  in  the  familiar  manner  she  invariably 
adopted  when  her  wayward  young  mistress  threatened 
to  get  out  of  hand. 

"You  have  been  pretty  good  lately,"  the  maid  recom- 
menced— "  very  good,  sometimes,  even.  God  knows,  you 
had  had  your  lesson,  and  it  served  to  quiet  you  for  a 
while.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  be  childish  any  more, 
even  if  we  are  on  the  right  track.  What  will  it  look  like 
if  you  arrive  bathed  in  tears?" 

Sacha  was  already  drying  her  eyes  stealthily  on  the 
back  of  her  dainty  suede  glove,  and  this  accomplished, 
she  turned  furiously  upon  her  kindly  tyrant. 

"My  lesson!  Thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  that! 
Ah!  yes."  And  the  flash  died  from  her  eyes,  extinguished 
by  a  new  moisture.  "  Do  you  imagine  I  can  ever  forget 
that  ghastly  funeral — all  the  Court,  and  the  Tsar  and 
Tsarina  looking  black  as  thunder-storms?  Oh!  that  day 
.  .  .  the  coffin  covered  with  violets,  and  the  Grand- 
Duchess's  face  so  calm  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  dead.  .  .  .  Yes,  dead  as 
his  must  have  looked,  though  she  was  still  so  beautiful! 
What  she  must  have  suffered!  Did  I  tell  you,  Rosalie, 
that  she  has  been  ever  since  in  Livadia,  at  that  little 
cottage  of  hers,  all  buried  in  trees  ?  Ye"gor  is  with  her  .  .  . 
you  remember  him  ?  The  foster-father  of  .  .  ."  she  stopped 
a  second,  then,  as  if  unable  to  check  herself,  recommenced 

362 


SNOW-FIRE 

•in  the  same  hushed  voice:  "I  know  I  should  try  not  to 
dwell  on  these  things  any  more,  but  I  can't  help  it  ...  to 
think  that  it  was  she  all  the  time — that  we  actually  were 
rivals!  But  you  know  how  little  it  all  mattered  to  me 
when  I  found  that  Alain  had  disappeared  .  .  .  that  I  had 
lost  him!" 

"  Yes,"  dryly  interrupted  Rosalie.  "  It  did  indeed 
take  all  that  to  make  you  discover  your  love  for  him,  the 
best  gentleman  that  ever  lived." 

Sacha's  pretty  head  could  sink  no  lower  than  it  had 
already  drooped.  "It  needed  that,  yes!"  she  whispered. 
"  It  needed  that  to  make  me — run  after  him — half  across 
the  world.  Still  you  cannot  doubt  that — oh!  long,  long 
before — I  would  have  done  anything  for  his  sake.  Selling 
the  Russian  estates  and  the  palace  in  Petersburg  was 
nothing — nothing  worth  mentioning.  What  do  I  care 
about  Russia?  I  am  immensely  rich  now,  Rosalie,  and 
if  I  only  find  him — !"  Again  she  stopped  with  a  sobbing 
little  shiver. 

The  rattling  carriage  had  just  turned  into  the  communal 
road — a  broad  chausse"e,  bordered  by  lordly  oaks  and  elms 
overshadowing  ditches  of  a  delicious  living  green  powdered 
with  strange  pale  flowerets ;  and  the  driver,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder,  pointed  one  finger  in  the  air. 

"One  kilometer!"  Rosalie  commented.  "Pull  yourself 
together,  Madame;  do,  please!" 

"  I  will  pull  myself  together,  indeed  I  will  .  .  .  but  when  I 
think  of  that  terrible  Colonel  refusing  to  tell  me  where  to 
look  for  Alain,  because  he  said  it  was  a  just  punishment 
for  me ;  and  our  trips  to  Paris  and  everywhere  else !  What 
would  I  have  done,  what  would  I  have  done,  Rosalie,  if 
I  hadn't  found  the  name  of  his  town  among  those  old  pa- 
pers in  his  valise  ?  He  had  never  told  me.  We  were  so — 
SO — unintimate!" 

363 


SNOW-FIRE 

There,  however,  Rosalie  resolutely  took  the  law  into 
her  own  hands.  "  Here,  now,"  she  said,  severely,  "  look  at 
me,  and  let  me  see  what  you  are  like.  Your  toque  is  all 
on  one  side.  I  might  have  known  that,"  she  went  on, 
while  repairing  the  damage.  "And  may  the  Blessed 
Saints  forgive  you,  for  you  are  as  white  as  a  ghost!"  She 
dived  into  one  of  her  numerous  pockets,  brought  forth 
smelling-salts  and  a  tiny  silver  flask  of  Spanish  wine,  and, 
pouring  out  some  of  the  latter  into  its  own  silver  cup,  she 
made  Sacha  swallow  it  to  the  last  drop. 

"  Now  that's  better,"  she  deigned  to  approve,  refasten- 
ing  the  collar  of  the  smart  pearl-gray  jacket,  and  re- 
arranging its  jabot  of  antique  lace.  "  Don't  forget  again 
that  you  are  going  to  your  bridegroom  and  not  to  a 
judge!" 

"  But  if  he  will  not  forgive  me  ...  if  he  is  not  there  .  . . 
if  ...  if  he  casts  me  out,  as  I  deserve  to  be!"  came  from 
the  trembling  lips. 

"Bah!  With  an  if  you  can  put  Paris  in  a  bottle, 
they  say.  Let's  get  there  first,  and  see  how  this  forsaken 
land  lies,"  was  the  contemptuous  rejoinder. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  only  when  the  already 
repentant  Rosalie  cried  out :  "  See,  Madame  la  Marquise, 
isn't  this  a  pretty  town,  though?" 

Sacha  looked  up  and  saw  straight  ahead  the  machic- 
olated  walls  of  a  fortress-like  eticeinte,  broken  at  regular 
intervals  by  immense  round  towers ;  the  dull  green  and 
gold  and  crimson  of  their  clinging  lichens  and  joubarbes 
mirrored  clearly  in  those  portions  of  the  broad  moat  as 
yet  uninvaded  by  an  emerald  film  of  water  lentils.  A 
well-preserved  mediaeval  drawbridge,  anchored  now  as 
a  permanent  way  should  be,  preceded  the  dark,  sculpt- 
ured arch  of  the  barbican,  framing  a  bright  perspective 
of  the  street  within;  and  above  the  battlements,  above 

364 


SNOW-FIRE 

the  gently  swaying  tops  of  full-foliaged  trees  beyond,  a 
sky  suddenly  cleared  from  rain  clouds,  and  showering 
the  mellow  light  of  sunset — that  lazy  sun  which  had  not 
taken  the  trouble  to  shine  all  day,  and  yet  felt  drowsy 
still  behind  his  wide-winged  glory  of  rose  and  gold. 

"Oh!"  was  all  Sacha  said,  and  even  Rosalie  did  not 
unclose  her  lips  again,  such  was  the  unexpected  delight 
of  this  fairy-like  aquarelle. 

With  a  recrudescence  of  cries  and  decrepit  vehicular 
clatter,  they  crossed  the  drawbridge,  and  ambled  leis- 
urely— now  the  goal  was  reached — along  a  narrow  street 
of  ancient  houses,  as  irregular  in  height  and  build  as 
those  in  a  Rembrandt  etching.  Now  and  again  a  low- 
browed shop  with  unfortunate  pretensions  to  Parisian 
elegance  and  chic  bludgeoned  the  eyes  with  its  windows 
piled  full  of  gaudy  silks  or  cheap  trash;  while  here  and 
there,  as  though  in  compensation,  lurked  an  antiquarian's 
small  casement,  where  upon  faded  velvet  were  displayed 
some  of  those  exquisite  old  Breton  jewels  which  find 
their  equals  nowhere. 

When  the  Parvis  de  le  Cathedrals  was  reached,  Sacha's 
eyes  grew  rounder  and  rounder,  for  never  to  her  mind 
had  any  place  of  worship  among  all  the  great  fanes  she 
had  seen  abroad,  or  the  onion-shaped  domes  of  Moscow's 
thousand  churches,  equalled  in  impressiveness  and  beauty 
the  guipure  of  imperishable  granite  now  before  her. 
The  outside  pulpit — a  bouquet  of  carven  lilies  encircling 
a  small  balcony — the  pure  Gothic  double-spires,  lit 
through  and  through  all  the  intricacies  of  their  delicate 
fretwork  by  the  rose-leaf  sky  behind,  the  deep  porch, 
laboriously  carven  and  hewn  into  figures  of  saints  gar- 
landed with  exquisite  arabesques,  and  such  trails  of 
morning-glories  as  one  might  expect  to  be  moulded  in 
wax,  and  not  wrought  from  stone  as  hard  as  steel — 

365 


SNOW-FIRE 

how  wonderful  it  all  was!  And  yet  this  was  her  town 
now — hers,  the  Marquise  de  Coetmen's!  Without  being 
aware  of  it,  she  was  painfully  crushing  Rosalie's  hand 
between  her  own  in  the  wildness  of  her  enthusiasm 
when  a  tremendous  shock  brought  her  to  herself,  and  she 
found  that  the  shaggy  and  foam-flecked  little  team  had 
been  pulled  up  with  no  gentle  hand  in  front  of  the  Hotel 
de  La  Duchesse  de  Berri — a  hostelry  justly  renowned  for  its 
irreproachable  oysters  and  wonderfully  grilled  fresh  sardines. 

Aided  by  a  comely  lace-capped  hostess,  who  seemed  to 
be  made  of  smiles,  she  jumped  down  to  the  hard,  round 
cobblestones,  followed  by  Rosalie — who  instantly  ex- 
pressed herself  as  "jolly  pleased  to  unrust  her  feet" — and 
fell  into  a  blind  contemplation  of  two  arborescent  fuchsias 
flanking  the  hospitable  door. 

"Madame  desire?"  the  hostess  was  asking,  when 
Rosalie  stepped  in. 

"We  do  not  know  quite  yet,"  she  replied.  "But  first 
can  you  tell  us,  Madame,  whether  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
de  Coetmkn  lives  here?" 

"In  my  hotel?"  the  young  woman  asked,  taking  rapid 
stock  of  the  luxurious  simplicity  of  Sacha's  costume — 
even  in  far  Finisterre  women  have  intelligent  eyes  for 
that  sort  of  thing.  "  No,  he  doesn't,  for  he  occupies  his 
own  house  in  the  Street  of  Monks  (La  Rue  des  Moines), 
and  a  fine  house  it  is,  Mademoiselle,  with  a  yard  full  of 
blue  hortensias,  the  like  of  which  you  couldn't  find  be- 
tween the  sea  and  France." 

"Ah!  and  is  it  far  from  here,  this  Street  of  Monks?" 

"  Five  minutes.  Shall  Laumec  Perdoz  take  you  there  ? 
I'll  tell  him  not  to  unhitch  if  you  like." 

"Laumec  Perdoz — is  that  his  name?"  Rosalie  asked, 
pointing  to  their  late  driver  with  her  faithful  umbrella. 

"Yes,  certainly,  why  not?" 

366 


SNOW-FIRE 

"Well,  since  it  is  so  near,  Laumec  Perdoz  can  go  and 
drink  a  bottle  of  wine  with  the  aid  of  this,"  and  she  put 
a  ten-franc  piece  in  the  hostess's  hand,  much  to  the  lat- 
ter's  amazement.  "  We  will  walk,  if  you'll  be  so  good  as 
to  keep  our  valises  meanwhile  in  your  office,  Madame. 
Blue  hortensias,  did  you  say,  and  a  Street  of  Monks?" 

"  Oh,  you  can't  miss  it !  First  to  the  left,  up  the  market- 
place, then  to  the  right,  toward  the  ramparts,  and  you 
are  there.  A  splendid  old  mansion,  with  the  arms  of 
Coetmen  carved  over  the  great  gate  of  the  Cour  d'honneur." 

Whether  Sacha  had  heard  or  not  Rosalie  did  not  in- 
quire, but  taking  her  mistress's  arm,  she  led  her,  as  she 
might  a  child,  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  large  covered 
market,  from  whence  the  homely  smell  of  new  wheat  and 
ripe  fruit  spread  about  the  neighboring  streets. 

"I  can't  go  so  fast!"  Sacha  implored,  pressing  one  small 
hand  to  her  heart;  "I  can't,  really,  Rosalie!" 

"Allans  done,  Madame,  think  who  you  are  going  to  see 
in  a  minute;  it  will  give  you  plenty  of  courage."  And 
Sacha  smiled  a  tearful  smile  that  Rosalie  pretended  to 
ignore. 

Fortunately  for  both  of  them,  in  so  small  a  town  the 
walls  in  any  direction  are  speedily  reached,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  Sacha  (who  must  have  heard,  after  all,  it  appears) 
dragged  back  on  Rosalie's  arm  with  her  full  weight. 
"The  blue  hortensias!"  she  gasped.  "Here,  don't  you 
see  them?"  Yes,  Rosalie  did  see  them,  those  great  azure 
globes  of  bloom,  thickly  cincturing  an  ancient  moss- 
grown  courtyard  with  an  escutcheoned  and  ivied  well- 
curb  in  the  midst;  while,  enclosing  all  on  three  sides,  the 
Hotel  de  Coetmen — a  chef  d'ceuvre  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
gray  as  softest  velvet — displayed  its  rows  of  long,  narrow 
windows,  heavily  leaded  with  small  greenish  panes,  its 
gargoyles,  carved  balconies,  and  tall  peaked  roofs  where 

367 


SNOW-FIRE 

many  a  scale  was  missing  from  the  deep-blue  slate  armor 
— sad  intimation  that  modern  were  not  as  former  days. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  paused  within  the  gate, 
peeping  timidly  into  the  yard.  Somewhere  a  man  was 
whistling,  and  they  pressed  close  to  each  other  as  they 
recognized  a  Russian  harvest  song  shrilly  but  perfectly 
rendered. 

"Gretzki!"  was  on  the  lips  of  both;  but,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  neither  of  them  could  speak  just  then.  Remorse, 
pain,  and  irresolution  on  one  side,  anxiety  and  fear  on  the 
other,  were  keeping  them  mute.  Then  suddenly  Sacha 
dropped  Rosalie's  arm,  and  ran  across  the  mossy  stones 
and  up  the  broad  doorsteps.  Her  heart  was  strangling 
her,  and  her  face  was  of  the  deepening  pink  of  the  clouds 
above.  Terrified,  the  bold  and  enterprising  Rosalie  flew 
in  pursuit,  and  it  was  she  who  found  the  bell-pull.  At  the 
ring  of  the  cracked  and  rusted  metal  within,  that  home- 
like whistling  ceased,  and  in  a  few  moments  a  firm, 
soldierly  step  approached. 

"Madame  la  Marquise — Rosalie — ce  n'est  pas  possible!" 
Gretzki  exclaimed,  his  honest  face  suffused  with  wonder 
and  joy. 

"Yes,"  Sacha  managed  to  say  through  her  parched 
lips,  "is  ...  is  he  ...  here?" 

She  had  not  even  noticed  that  the  ex-Grodno  Hussar 
was  using  very  creditable  French! 

"Come,  Excellency!" — this  in  his  best  Russian,  and 
with  a  radiant  revealing  smile. 

He  instinctively  put  out  his  immense  hand  to  steady 
her,  and  Sacha,  grasping  as  much  of  it  as  she  could  with 
those  tiny  fingers  of  hers,  was  well-nigh  lifted  into  a 
beautiful  hall,  forlorn  in  its  bareness  and  time-dimmed 
panelling.  Then  following  meekly,  she  was  led  across  a 
meagrely  furnished  suite  of  great  salons — a  poor  pallid 

368 


SNOW-FIRE 

little  Marquise  indeed,  trembling  in  all  her  limbs.  At 
last  a  closed  door,  a  quiet  turning  of  the  handle,  and  a 
burst  of  golden,  red  sunrays  that  made  her  recoil  against 
Gretzki. 

From  its  listless  seat  on  the  window-sill  a  tall  figure  rose 
and  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"Alain,  it  is  I  ...  Sacha!"  Her  strength  had  returned, 
and  she  flew  along  the  old  polished  floor. 

"Sacha?"  he  echoed,  in  the  voice  of  a  sleep-walker. 

"Take  me  back  .  .  .  take  me  back  ...  I  am  sorry!"  she 
sobbed,  half-sinking  to  her  knees  before  him — but  he 
lifted  her  in  his  strong  arms,  and  crushed  her  to  him.  The 
door  had  closed  silently,  and  they  were  alone. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  would  have  said  once  more;  but  he 
held  her  so  tightly  that  she  could  not  even  try  to  beg  his 
pardon  again. 

"My  love!  My  little  wife!"  he  whispered,  his  lips 
pressed  to  her  bright  hair.  "  My  own — my  very  own!" 

And,  outside,  Rosalie  and  Gretzki  were  embracing 
each  other  .  .  .  perhaps  in  sheer  sympathy  and  delight 
.  .  .  perhaps  because  they  had  thought  they  would  never 
get  the  chance  to  do  so! 


THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


000  737  080     2 


